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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25463257">strawberries &amp; cigarettes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterhatesyou/pseuds/otterhatesyou'>otterhatesyou</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Yearning, alicia and jamia are there too!, also lowkey frikey, pete has dreads, petekey, petekey au, petekey high school au, quarterback!pete, side frerard i guess, “mikey is kind of a slut”</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:35:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>54,815</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25463257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterhatesyou/pseuds/otterhatesyou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"you're so sweet, i can't believe ants don't just carry you away". </p><p>after moving from the city to the suburbs, mikey just wants to fit in with his family and forget why his mother up and left. when he meets pete, the two navigate the unfamiliarity  of understanding their relationships, sexualities, races and reputations.</p><p>pete sees something in mikey that’s beyond being broken and unloveable, and mikey lets him. he’s just not sure if he can love someone before he really, truly loves himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Mikey Way/Pete Wentz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>135</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. welcome to hellville</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>mikey barely makes it through the door before his dad basically pounces on him, asking "you're home late! how was school, mikes?" and taking the boy's backpack from him like he's seven and not seventeen. mikey shrugs it off, because he appreciates the effort, smiling gently.<br/>
"i'm just glad it's friday. sorry i didn't call, i missed the bus so i got a ride and we stopped for-".<br/>
"hey, it's okay, you're not that late. you got plans for tonight?", his dad asks, following mikey into the kitchen where the boy is set on pouring himself a bowl of cereal. </p><p>mikey debates telling his father that his crazy weekend plan is to take this cereal bowl up to his bedroom and not come down for any kind of social interaction until monday. that seems to be all there is to do in belleville. mikey's been here for two weeks and he's yet to find a single fun thing to do in the beige abyss. gerard has affectionately nicknamed it "hellville", and mikey thinks he might start using that name slightly less affectionately. </p><p>"i've got mikey claimed all weekend actually", gerard turns up out of nowhere and practically saves mikey's dignity. he's wearing pyjamas, and his hair is all knotted, like he just rolled out of bed ten minutes ago. he has no classes on fridays, so he probably did. "i just got a new video game. he cleared his schedule to help me clear some levels".<br/>
"well, happy gaming", their dad leaves the room, and as soon as mikey is sure he's out of earshot, he thanks his brother profusely.<br/>
"you saved me. i'm really not looking forward to breaking the news that i'm still the loser new kid to him", mikey sighs and starts to wolf down his cereal. "what video game?".<br/>
"i'm spending twenty dollars a day to get coffee on campus and you really think i can afford a new video game? i was just distracting dad, dickhead".<br/>
"whatever, gerard. thanks, i guess", mikey turns around to go upstairs, remembering just exactly why he was spending his weekend alone and not with his brother, when gerard stops him. </p><p>"where were you?".<br/>
"you heard me tell him".<br/>
"i heard you lie to dad", gerard scoffs, sitting down at the breakfast bar. "where did you actually go?".<br/>
"i was hanging out with frank", mikey is lying through his teeth now, and for a second he thinks he's being quite convincing, but then gerard gives a heavy sigh.<br/>
"frank is in the basement, mikey".<br/>
"he- what?", the younger boy is less than surprised, but he still can't believe what he's hearing. "are you... mother fucker, that's why he ran off after third. gerard, you're fucking my only friend?".<br/>
"keep your fucking voice down, mikey, he was my friend first", gerard hisses, glancing around like their dad is hiding behind a piece of furniture. he probably is. he’s been very clingy since mikey got here. "listen, just... just be cool, okay? i think he actually likes me, so don't be lame, alright?". </p><p>mikey groans, losing every last bit of will he has left in his little body as he glances at gerard's hair and clothes and jesus christ, it all makes sense now, and he doesn't even have time to pick up his cereal bowl because he has to leave the room immediately before he throws up. </p><p>when he's in his room, he sits on the edge of his bed and stares at one of the four white walls. he hasn't put his posters up yet. he doesn't think he ever will, but it would break his dad's heart if he found out mikey hasn't settled yet. </p><p>back home, mikey has the box bedroom of a very small apartment, which means he can only fit a single bed and a tiny wooden desk. he doesn't care about how tiny it is, or the black mould in the corner, because it's so perfectly mikey: not a single inch of wall is left untouched by a poster or a flag or a photograph, and over the years he must've added an extra inch of thickness to the walls in memorabilia alone. he feels out of place here. he couldn't replicate what he had back home even if he tried. </p><p>he can't decide what to get the most angry at, and that's only making him more frustrated. he thinks that maybe, just maybe, if their parents would've just stayed together all those years ago, that he wouldn't have such a bad relationship with gerard. </p><p>gerard and mikey grew up in the city, and they were close. best friends, not like now. but gerard sided with his father in the divorce, whereas mikey stayed. he so desperately wanted to believe his mother was a good person. he stills does, despite everything. but he picked badly, and things haven't been right since he did. </p><p>he's learnt just how absent she can be now, though, so here he is in the suburbs. his only way of connecting with his childhood is sneaking into the city. it's either because he's seen his old apartment today, or because of the argument, or an explosive mixture of both, but he's thinking so hard about his old life right now: an image the little 'way residence' he'd scribbled on the mailbox years ago with a drawing of a group of four stick figures sticks prominently in his head. </p><p>he's such a loser, and he really doesn't want his family to know it, because he's so fucking desperate to make a good impression and build a relationship with them again that it hurts. that's why he's lying to them. to everyone. except frank, actually.</p><p>frank is the one who comes sliding into mikey's room, holding a cup of coffee as a peace offering.<br/>
"heyyyy", he sounds meek, sitting down next to mikey and putting the coffee on the nightstand. "did you go into the city again?".<br/>
"yes".<br/>
"do you wanna talk about it?".<br/>
"no", mikey sniffles, thinking frank is the last person he wants to see right now, but also knowing he's the only one who will understand. they've been friends since mikey first got here, and they're close considering the short time frame. frank likes to say it's because he attracts misfits. </p><p>"did you see your mom?", he puts his arm around mikey's shoulders.<br/>
"no".<br/>
"are you gonna cry?". </p><p>mikey just wants things back to normal. he wants to be playing pretend games with gerard on the walk home from elementary school, stopping off in the record stores and having his big brother show him all the latest music, or stopping by their favourites street vendor to get hotdogs. he doesn't want to be living in the suburbs with a dad he hasn't spoken to in years, and a brother who thinks he's lame (and fucks his only friend). </p><p>mikey doesn't even need to answer, because it's obvious. frank sees his glazed eyes and red cheeks, and he drags the boy into an enveloping hug.<br/>
"let me cheer you up", frank mumbles. "i can bring you to your first belleville high school party. it's tomorrow, i'll pick you up at eight?".<br/>
"i don't know, frank. i'll... i'll sleep on it".<br/>
"you know i've been... we've been hooking up for like a year, i didn't wanna scare you off by telling you i'm doing your brother".<br/>
"i don't feel like his brother much these days anyway, frankie, so he's all yours". mikey feels a gentle kiss on the back of his head, and he curls into frank's warmth. "he says he thinks you like him".<br/>
"he did?", frank‘s eyes light up. "i mean - he’s cool, i guess. but sex is just sex, mikes. i'm not... in love or anything. we’re casual". </p><p>mikey's just about to point out that frank sounds too excited to be ‘casual’, but he stops himself and lets frank have this one. it's the least he can do. </p><p>dinner that night is awkward, as usual: they eat at a dining table in a designated room, and mikey's beginning to think the years of sofa surfing while eating on a t.v tray are catching up with. every single time his dad gently reminds him to get his elbow off the table, he insists can't help it, that he's all arm and elbow and leg, and he's just not suited for dining tables.<br/>
"you're not going to be able to take any little ladies out on dates if you don't learn how to eat formally, mikes", his dad insists. gerard snorts. he usually has his tangled earplugs in - their dad never notices - but today he appears to have lost them. or purposefully discarded them to make mikey's life harder.<br/>
"mikey won't get a girl to agree to a date, he wears like, three variations of the same outfit".<br/>
"at least that's the reason i wouldn't be taking a girl on a date", mikey hisses, but his eyes meet gerard's and he sees the sheer fear in the older boy. he bites his tongue. gerard breathes out. </p><p>their dad pretends to ignore the blatant tension. he's been doing that for a fortnight now, so it must be becoming second nature. everything feels so frosty. lately, mikey's felt separated from his family with a barrier of ice, and he just doesn't know how to break it. he hasn't spoken to his mom for a month. he doesn't know if she's even coming back. </p><p>even after the grand gesture of not being a dick and exposing gerard to their religiously ambiguous father at dinner, gerard still doesn't seem satisfied with mikey's general existence. he pulls his little brother side from loading the plates into the dishwasher and tightens his grip around his forearm.<br/>
"you really think that was a smart idea? running your mouth like that?", he doesn't give mikey a chance to speak before he's launching into the next question. "you left me. you abandoned me and chose her. you want to know how much shit i had to figure out on my own because of you? do you understand how hard it was not being able to tell the person i was closest to that i like guys?".<br/>
"i'm guessing these are rhetorical questions", mikey finally manages to get a word in edgeways, and gerard lets out the most exaggerated sigh that has possibly ever left his body.<br/>
"you're just so fucking mikey", he spits, and then leaves mikey standing there in the kitchen. </p><p>mikey takes a few seconds to regain his ability to think, blinks a couple of times, and then starts loading the dishwasher again. </p><p>so this is life now. </p><p>welcome to helleville.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. don’t be so mikey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>on saturday morning, gerard invites ray over, and mikey thinks it's only fair that frank and alicia come and hang out too. by lunch time, arthur way gets home from the store and finds that his back yard has become some kind of breeding ground for misfits. </p><p>mikey runs inside when he sees his dad through the sliding doors, and starts helping him unpack the shopping.<br/>
"who does the girl belong to?", he, with an old fashioned manner, is asking wether alicia is dating one of the guys.<br/>
"alicia? she's a friend. she doesn't belong to anybody", mikey says fondly as he rearranges the refrigerator like this is a game of tetris. his dad always goes overboard at wholefoods.<br/>
"shes pretty", he says. mikey nods. </p><p>alicia is floating around the pool on a lilo, a plastic cup of lemonade in her hand, eyes most likely closed underneath her sunglasses. she looks like a goddess, so perfectly still, pale skin glowing so heavenly, black hair slicked back and wet.</p><p>"you like her?", arthur asks, and mikey finishes unpacking, whipping his head round to look at his dad.<br/>
"dad, she's like, way out of my league even if i had any remote interest in her", he starts digging around in the freezer for one of the juice pops he's just seen, triumphantly taking out a cherry one. the pair of them watch as alicia pulls herself to the edge of the pool and struts over to sit by the older boys, shameless flirtation and effortless beauty as always. "she's out of all of our leagues, i don't know why she hangs with us".</p><p>gerard is dressed in two layers too many for the peak of the day's heat, and is probably practically sweltering beneath his hood, hunched over a sketch pad. he has his best friend, ray - a metal head and AV geek all rolled into one - sat by his feet making a long list of all the music he's listened to since the last time they spoke (which was probably only yesterday, so mikey is honeslty kind of impressed). if anyone here is remotely cool enough to win alicia's heart, its frank. mikey sort of adores frank. </p><p>after a hair bleaching mishap which they've all grown to love, his hair is teetering between blond and orange, and it's slick with water because he's been doing handstands in the pool for the last half hour. that's one of the things mikey likes best. the fact frank's energy is a candle that never burns out - although that can be less than helpful a lot of the time, because it gets them into trouble, like frank running through the mcdonald's drive through on foot and snatching people's orders while mikey disappointedly watched from behind a parked car. </p><p>"frank's out of our league too", mikey is thinking out loud, and his dad hands him a handful of ice pops, not taking much notice.<br/>
"share these out, kid. gerard likes the lemon ones".<br/>
"course he does", mikey rolls his eyes and heads back outside, doing what his dad asked and then sitting on the edge of the pool. he puts his ankles in, water cold against his warm skin, and wraps his arms around his body: he's always been insecure about his scrawny legs and bumpy ribs, but he knows not to make that obvious, because he fears being taunted. his mother used to poke him in the stomach and call him a string bean, telling him to eat a burger. mikey still thinks maybe it was out of love. he hopes he's right. </p><p>frank splashes him with water a little, and mikey grins and kicks back, ushering him over to hand him his ice pop. frank hoists himself out of the water and sits next to mikey while he eats, leaning his head on his shoulder. alicia dives back into the pool and floats by their feet. </p><p>arthur follows mikey outside, sitting by the two older boys.<br/>
"hey, mr way", ray says - he has this enthusiastic, throaty voice and nice manners that make adults like him. "what's the plan for tonight?".<br/>
"nothing much, nothing much, what are you boys up to?".<br/>
"gonna go to this new music store in the city i think. ray's gonna try out the guitars he can't afford", gerard laughs, and ray hits his sides lightly. mikey's fist clenches, his heart twanging with jealousy - going to music stores was their thing, and now he was merely irrelevant. mikey was simply just a housemate.<br/>
"we should sort of set off now, actually", ray sort of thinks out loud, and gerard checks his watch and stands up.<br/>
"oh shoot, yeah", he kisses his dad on the head and nods. "we'll be back at eight-ish".<br/>
"i'll be here", arthur nods, letting them go just like that. after another couple of minutes, he walks indoors too, probably because his favourite interior design show starts in ten minutes. </p><p>"so", alicia says, grinning at frank, and mikey hates the way frank is looking back at her. they're up to something, he's known them for a minuscule amount of time but they're indescribably easy to read. "do you like... wanna come to that party tonight".<br/>
"what are you guys planning?", mikey frowns, but he gives them the benefit of the doubt because he soon realises this is a way of proving his independence from gerard. when he agrees to come, frank throws his arms around him, and alicia splashes him with water playfully.</p><p>"dude! you're new here, and you're crazy sexy. you are so getting laid tonight. come on, don't be so mikey", frank decides to practically shout, despite their close proximity to the house and the person inside.<br/>
"alright, alright, don't get too excited", mikey sighs, catching alicia's eye. she's grinning at him, and she winks when she realises he's looking back. mikey feels sort of unsettled, like if the butterflies in his stomach are on a rampage.</p><p>he still hasn't told frank, or anyone, about what  happened a few days ago - about how he had made out with alicia when she came over to study. he has a feeling she's probably looking for a repeat tonight, but as a rule, mikey way doesn't tend to repeat his hookups, bar these two friends  back in the city who he assumes will fade into a dim memory now that he's a suburban kid. besides, he's looking for something new. </p><p>"come on, mikey", frank stands up and holds out a hand, shaking water droplets from his mess of a fringe as he pulls the taller boy to his feet. "you too, alicia. we have some serious partying to do tonight".</p><p>mikey's almost entirely sure what he's looking for.</p><p>at the party, he’s about three beers in when he starts feeling that comfortable buzz. it kicks in when he takes himself off upstairs in this strangers house to find their bathroom, and ends up spending ten minutes just looking at himself in the mirror. </p><p>he's spent so long hating himself, pointing out his flaws every time he sees his reflection, and yet right now he feels nothing. no emotion towards his petite nose and feminine eyelashes, or his scrawny figure. not a singular worry about the way his dirty blond hair frames his face, or if his nose ring looks weird, or if his glasses make him seem pretentious. </p><p>back in the city, his looks are normal. everyone is so artistic, and prides themselves on individuality, and mikey blends right in, forgotten in a mass of piercings and tattoos and pink hair. in belleville, though, it's different. he sticks out like a sore thumb in this picturesque little town, and it's so obvious he's not meant to be here. </p><p>when he stumbles back downstairs to go and stand in the kitchen, which frank insists they do because that's where all the cool kids stand, alicia catches him from falling over his own two feet. she's about as tipsy as he is, and it's good company.<br/>
"where's frankie at?", he asks, leaning against the kitchen island. she rests her head on his shoulder and points vaguely into the living room, where there is a mass of bodies getting way too physical to call it dancing.<br/>
"i lost him to the orgy when you went to pee", she jokes, right as mikey spots him. he's not dancing with anyone in particular, but he's still enjoying himself, and he's sweating like he's running a mile. </p><p>he thinks for a second if he can focus on the way alicia starts grinding against him - just focus on the soft skin of her neck - he'll be able to divert his attention from the boy. </p><p>it doesn't work. </p><p>"i need some air", mikey gently pushes his friend off of him and starts working his way towards the door before she can ask questions, not daring to look and see how disappointed she probably is. he doubts she'll miss him for long - alicia is beautiful, and there have been at least five guys waiting in the shadows, ready to ask her to dance all night. </p><p>the back yard is so empty that he's not even sure if he's supposed to be out here, but he sees one other life form hunched over a cigarette on the bench, so he slides over and sits next to him.<br/>
"let me guess, you want a smoke?", the boy breaks the silence, and mikey grins.<br/>
"was it really that obvious?", he takes out his lighter and waves it. "i still cary this around like i'll ever need it. never had to use ID back in the city but here it's like every adult wants to know your business".</p><p>it's raining a little bit now, but its nothing alarming, and so they both ignore it. the boy grins at mikey. "smalltown limitations. you’re lucky i’m drunk, because i only smoke at parties. i’m supposed to be holding these for joe while he hooks up with someone in the bathroom”. pete talks a lot. just when mikey thinks he’s gonna stop, he starts again. “how old are you? light this", he asks and pulls an unlit cigarette from the pocket of his skinny jeans, leaning into mikey, who does as he's told.<br/>
"i'm seventeen", he takes the cigarette, and after a long drag, shakes his hand. "you go to belleville high, right? sorry, i'm not used to all the faces yet".<br/>
"yeah, i do. i'm a senior, no one special. you're junior, right? or at least i'm guessing from the whole 'too young to buy your own smokes' issue", he laughs. "i'm pete. i play football". </p><p>pete looks at him when he talks, like really looks at him. they're both a little tipsy and he's slurring some of his words but mikey really appreciates the efforts to connect. he nods. </p><p>"yeah, i’m a junior", mikey grimaces. “i’m probably gonna die from brain rot before senior year”.<br/>
"is life really that bad?", the stranger indulges him, glaring up at the sky when the rain gets louder and the water droplets get bigger.<br/>
"nobody here knows I'm into guys. like, the same way i'm into girls. maybe. i don't know, i like people. but honestly, fuck it, i don't give a shit if this little cult - town wants to burn the gays or not. i need those thrills. that secrecy - god, i need that excitement. but i only know two people who have any kind of remote interest in... that... one is my brother - and the other is fucking my brother. my brother! all my life i've fought for my independence, to be someone away from my brothers shadow, and now you're telling me he also fucks guys? seriously? like, get a personality, gerard".<br/>
"gerard... way? as in the really loud drama kid who graduated last year?", the boy asks. mikey nods, a little embarrassed, but then he gets reassured that there's nothing to be embarrassed about, and that his brother is 'dope'.<br/>
"he put on this art display at school like two years ago. I spoke to him a few times at parties, but you're cooler - you're like, more talkative. don't worry. totally your own person, even if you do... fuck boys...", he almost blushes as he stumbles through the last part of the sentence.<br/>
"yeah, well. i'm mikey. mikey way".<br/>
"hi, mikeyway". </p><p>the rain is beating down hard on the boys now, relentless, but even when they've stubbed out their cigarettes, mikey isn't sure he's ready to go back inside yet. the atmosphere isn't anything like any of the parties he's ever been to, and he isn't surrounded by people he feels he can be himself around, so what's the point? the outdoors is pretty at night, and he swears if he squints then he can see the skyline of new jersey. the ringing in his ears gets violent the harder he thinks about it, or about gerard, or frank, or his mother. </p><p>pete clears his throat and then stands up, but then does something unexpected. he doesn't leave, like everybody else. he holds out his hand, actually, which mikey gingerly takes, and then he's being pulled to his feet and out further into the downpour. </p><p>"dude, shit, it's basically a fucking storm, why aren't we going back indoors", mikey groans, but he doesn't move. he stands there with pete in the middle of a strangers garden, and realises pete is a stranger too.<br/>
"mikeyway, brother of weird-cool gerard", he states, only half joking. "i want you to scream 'fuck it' as loud as you can".<br/>
"but-".<br/>
"ah, ah", he shushes him. "fuck it". </p><p>mikey's drenched, and he can barely see out of his glasses. he's about to laugh and retreat indoors, but he has a sudden realisation surrounding pete's train of thought. he's literally standing, hand in hand, with a stranger. he doesn't even know his last name. there's no way he'll ever be in this situation again, not in any lifetime, and so the illogicality of the position actually makes it logical to scream. it's liberating too, once mikey lets rip. there's something powerful at yelling fuck you into the sky; as the words leave his body, so does weeks of sadness. months of hurt and confusion. it's therapeutic to not give a fuck.</p><p>they must look like absolute fucking morons, holding onto each other and cry laughing until it hurts, dancing around though they can barely hear the music coming from indoors, and shouting obscenities up into the heavens. mikey's almost in disbelief at how much he's cutting loose, but he feels like pete being quite pretty has something to do with the persuasion. </p><p>he can see him properly now that they're under the moonlight, and he notices things about him. notices the tanner complexion, the mellow eyes, the bleached tips of his dreads. he's nothing like anyone mikey has seen in belleville, and that crooked smile that crinkles all the way to his eyes makes it even better.</p><p>"you're a little weirdo, mikeyway", pete smiles after a while. "you're cute, too. what even are you? like, who are you?".<br/>
"let's just say i haven't quite figured that one out yet".<br/>
"is it possible that you're mistaking your crippling loneliness for a need to kiss the first guy who's given you attention here?".<br/>
"what are you saying?".<br/>
“that maybe you just need a friend who... also seeks that sort of excitement”, pete grins, but before mikey can give him a smart ass answer, he's catching the taller boy's wet face in his hands and pulling him down into a kiss. </p><p>without even thinking, mikey is kissing him back. </p><p>he smiles into it. </p><p>he's kissing a boy in a stranger's backyard at a party full of people he's never met.</p><p>and yet, this is the most normal he's felt in a long time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. high school never ends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"are you okay?", frank asks in church on sunday, less than twenty four hours after the party. </p><p>mikey stares at him for about twelve seconds before whispering, "well, frank, i'm hungover. so you tell me if i'm okay or not".<br/>
"oh, come on, mikey, you're holding out on me. did something-", frank can't finish whatever he's about to whisper, thank god, because gerard slides into the pew next to them. </p><p>"where's dad?", mikey asks him.<br/>
"peeing, i think. there's something scandalous about peeing in church bathrooms", gerard gives a shrug and then nods at frank. "hey".<br/>
"hey, gee", frank absolutely melts, and mikey resists the urge to gag. the sickly feeling that the interaction gives him is worse than any hangover. </p><p>their dad comes back, and frank gets pulled away by his mother once more people start filing in. mikey figures they'll catch up later. when the service starts, mikey takes about six minutes to appreciate the words of god before he's zoning out and trying his best to discreetly look around. </p><p>he's looking for pete. the pete that he kissed. he's nowhere to he seen, though, so mikey figures he just doesn't believe in god. </p><p>it's fine, because mikey doesn't believe in god either. he's got better things to believe in, like karma, and if there really was a magical man in the sky who grants miracles, nothing would be as fucked up as it is for him right now. he looks over at frank's pew, where he's tapping his skinny-jean clad leg: he usually mumbles something about not wearing formal attire because that classifies as censorship; his shitty basement punk logic makes mikey laugh out loud most of the time. he's ninety percent sure frank doesn't believe either. </p><p>gerard's got a lot of black collared shirts, and rosaries, but mikey's surprised his brother doesn't set on fire every time he enters the church-grounds: he reeks of catholic guilt, sweating beneath his sunday best like the whole room can smell his sins. frank told him he finds it kind of sexy once. mikey doesn't want to think about it any longer. </p><p>they never went to church back in the city. their mom is a hardcore atheist, and maybe thats why their dad left. mikey prays for her to come back sometimes, despite his stance, but he feels like god holds grudges against nonbelievers. it's worth a shot, though. they bow their heads in prayer and mikey recites his own words under his breath, hoping to hell that gerard doesn't hear him and tease - or worse, console him. </p><p>people stare at mikey in church. it's because he's still very new to town, and he figures it's the most excitement any of the leathery old faces that overpopulate this town have had in years. most people who go to church look like they're sixty seconds away from dying, and who would mikey be to deny them all the opportunity to stare at him with sour expressions for twenty seconds at a time?</p><p>they hate his long-ish hair, the metal hoop in his nose, and the creases in his shirt. he hates church. </p><p>the second the service ends, frank runs over to the way's so fast that he almost sends mikey flying, inviting himself over, and for once, he's more excited to see mikey than he is to gush over gerard. it almost stops the way boy dead in his tracks when frank follow him up to his bedroom instead of sneaking down into the basement.  </p><p>"so!", frank falls to mikey's bed triumphantly, kicking off his shoes like he owns the place. telling frank iero to make himself at home is one of the most unnecessary things in the world. "you hooked up with someone. alicia told me". <br/>
"what?", mikey freezes, then shakes his head and starts rifling through his closet, pulling out his anthrax t-shirt. "don't be crazy".<br/>
"she told me you'd disappeared for a weird amount of time, and then when you came back - when we were dancing together before we left - you had this dumb sparkly look in your eyes".<br/>
"dumb sparkly look?", mikey snorts, changing into his t-shirt and flinging himself down next to his best friend. "my eyes don't sparkle".<br/>
"oh, but they do", frank teases, holding mikey's face. "they sparkle".</p><p>if frank would've said that two days ago, mikey's stomach would've fluttered and his face would've flushed red. now he just bats it off as a funny, flirty joke like frank intended, because the crush has gone. that feeling of filling his desire to kiss a pretty boy has gone. he can't stop thinking about pete. </p><p>even with a booming hangover, he remembers pete's name. he's a vision in mikey's mind, clear as day: golden eyes; bronze skin; an absolutely platinum smile. when frank wraps his arms around mikey's middle and lays his head on his chest to nap, mikey doesn't even react. it's second nature, now. frank's nothing but a close friend.</p><p>"you gonna nap?", mikey asks, prodding him. frank opens one eye.<br/>
"you gonna tell me who you hooked up with?".<br/>
"sorry, can't hear you", mikey shuts his eyes tight. "i'm sleeping".</p><p>frank gives a heavy sigh, punctuated with a little laugh.<br/>
"you better tell me absolutely everything when i wake up, way", he demands, and within ten minutes, he's fast asleep. </p><p>mikey doesn't remember when he also sleeps, but he wakes up to frank not being there. it almost makes him laugh out loud, because it feels like the world's lamest attempt at a one night stand. frank's in the basement. he doesn't have to go and check - he just knows that frank has woken up early and tip toed into gerard's room. </p><p>a few days ago, mikey would've been filled with primal rage at this. he would've felt used and cheated. right now, his stupid little crush on frank is the last thing on his mind, tossed away and forgotten the second pete kissed him. he swears he can still taste him on his lips. vaguely like strawberry jell-o shots. maybe it was chapstick. mikey's not sure if pete's a chapstick guy. he's not sure who he is at all. </p><p>and no, he's not too keen on the idea of knowing his best friend and his brother are probably shoving their tongues down each other's throats right now, but at least he's gotten out of talking about pete. he doesn't want to tell frank everything. he wants to keep it to himself for as long as he possibly can: cling to the precious memory and keep it his, selfish, selfless secret. </p><p>mikey’s always had crushes, but he’s never quite known how to deal with them. his mom used to say it was because he’s a ‘hopeless unromantic’, which seems kind of right, because his idea of a good time is a quickie in the back of hot topic with a friend who just so happens to work the closing shift there. there’s one thing in his life that has been a constant, though: every time he gets a new love interest, all interest in the previous person flies straight out of the window. </p><p>his pillow smells like frank. for once, that doesn't make his stomach flutter. </p><p>he thinks he’s probably kicked his feelings - his ones towards frank, at least - completely by monday morning. he gets ready for school as normal and there’s only one thing on his mind. a boy who looks indescribably pretty under the moonlight. </p><p>he thinks about the party for the whole morning. it’s a nice distraction from the fact that this is the last place on earth that he wants to be. </p><p>the thing is, mikey feels like he’s living in a different timeline completely. his school back in the city got revamped to be an arts school in the eighties and since then, everybody has taken it upon themselves to try and be as individual as possible. </p><p>the more alternative you are, the more you stand out. it's the only place on planet earth where the guys with liberty spikes and the girls with raccoon tails get to walk the halls like they own that shit. if there's one thing he misses, it's not having people turn their heads when they see his nose ring. if he smiled more - had more pep - then they'd probably like him, but mikey doesn't smile much in school. not unless he's with his friends, of course. </p><p>belleville high is not the norm for a big city kid. </p><p>from what jamia has told him, the belleville elite aren't the kids with the green hair or the ripped jeans. the prom king &amp; queen are always a jock and a cheerleader, and it's so cliché teen movie that it's almost laughable.</p><p>but at least he has one constant: his people. sure, alicia's a little intimidating, and class president frank is public enemy one of the god-fearing jesus club, but they'd be mikey's first choice in a heartbeat (if they weren't his only choice). </p><p>jamia is back from her cheer retreat too, so the group is complete again, and when mikey finds them in the stairwell on their lunch break, she throws her arms around him like she's known him for years. its comforting to all of them that she'd rather sit on a window ledge and eat a box of ava's cupcakes than hang out with the rest of the peppy cheerleaders. </p><p>it's not that jamia doesn't have much pep. it's that her pep is often misplaced and overwhelming. she has no filter. </p><p>"i've been starving myself for days! stupid meredith with her stupid salads. i love them, but those girls are a nightmare - pass me that vanilla cupcake you scrawny motherfucker", she grabs at frank's food and he passes her the remaining scraps of the cupcake he's been demolishing.<br/>
"hey, jam, what do you know about the football players here?", mikey interrupts her before she starts making love to the confectionery. she perks up. if there's one thing jamia loves, it's giving the low down. </p><p>"why do you wanna know. is this why you ditched me the other night?", alicia frowns, kicking him slightly. "did you fuck some cheer bunny and now you're afraid her boyfriend is on the team?".<br/>
"no, i didn't fuck her - shit, him. i didn't fuck him, it was a dude, i'm like... bi or whatever. but we just made out", mikey spits out. the trio stare at him for a couple of seconds: frank looks impressed; alicia looks indifferent; jamia just looks intrigued. </p><p>"okay", she smiles and pats mikey on the back, her low-key way of showing that she's proud. "so you just, what, forgot to tell us that?".<br/>
"i just didn't know if you wanted to know...".<br/>
"well as much as i'd love to stay and chat about poor little mikey-wikey's schoolboy crush, i have my counselling", alicia fakes a smile, leaning in to kiss everyone goodbye. to mikey's surprise, she doesn't skip him. </p><p>she has meetings with the school counsellor almost every day, and he could put a $300 bet on whether or not his name is going to be brought up, and whether its been brought up before now. frank offers to walk her, but she's always been fiercely independent. </p><p>that's alicia. fiercely independent, violently unpredictable, and completely uninterested in petty drama.</p><p>frank and jamia are not the same. </p><p>"i want details, mikey way, and i want them now. you've been promising you'd tell me since yesterday. yesterday!", frank makes a point out of overreacting, probably to scare the group of grade nine girls who are walking by. "what kind of a best friend are you?".<br/>
"when did you want me tell you? between napping in my room, and fucking my brother? you left your jacket in my room, and your dignity somewhere on the driveway", mikey shoots back as the niners disappear up the stairwell. he wouldn't want to shock them by literally airing frank's dirty laundry any louder than necessary.</p><p>mikey doesn't know why he always gets this kind of reaction when people find out he's kissed a guy. people still talk about 'that time mikey and gabe made out at the winter formal', but completely ignore the fact he also lost his virginity to a girl that night. maybe that's why he hesitates to tell people he's bisexual. maybe that's why he thinks telling people he 'likes what he likes' is a good enough explanation.  </p><p>jamia checks her watch and starts gathering her stuff together, grimacing.<br/>
"i have gym", she says, shooting an exasperated look at frank when he complains that she 'basically just got back from a whole weekend of gym'. "mikey, sweetie, if you're going to give any indication as to who this mystery football fella is...".<br/>
"i bet it's that cortez kid", frank laughs, watching mikey unfold his skinny limbs before helping him to his feet too. "is it?".<br/>
"i'm not gonna-".<br/>
"no way, it's definitely trohman. he never acts like a perv when the football guys come and watch cheer practice", jamia disagrees. </p><p>but they're wrong. mikey hasn't even heard of any of these people - all he knows is pete. pete, pete, pete. "nobody important", as he called himself.</p><p>he's thinking about the gentle trace of pete's fingertips as they walk jamia to class early. he's thinking about the fear of rejection leaving his body when pete kissed back while he lights frank's cigarette underneath the bike shelter. </p><p>it's not until the bell rings that mikey is forcibly summoned back into boring belleville. it's frank squeezing his shoulders that gets his attention.<br/>
"so you're coming, right? are you even listening to me?".<br/>
"coming where? i have english".<br/>
"no, you dickweed. to the game tonight. my family always get a whole row, they're crazy into sports. i just thought you should come and see what all the deal is - plus, jamia in a tight cheer uniform".<br/>
"you're a pig, but i will admit that sounds tempting", mikey rolls his eyes and smiles. "is this just an elaborate plan to find out which football player i kissed?". </p><p>frank's already walking up the corridor, evading the answer as always. he turns on his heel before he gets to his classroom and winks at mikey, who is still stood awkwardly where frank left him.<br/>
"i'll pick you up at seven!", he shouts, and mikey flips him off in response. </p><p>he's floating on a cloud during english class, physically incapable of listening to a word that is being said about shakespeare, which is sort of funny because romeo and juliet might be one mikey's biggest guilty pleasures. he hasn't read it outside of skimming certain passages, but he's got it ingrained in his mind that that's how a love story should go. preferably minus the death, but not necessarily. </p><p>the bell rings, and as he looks up from grabbing his messenger bag off of the floor, mikey swears he sees a flash of bleach-tipped dreadlocks walk down the busy corridor. </p><p>maybe going to the game is a good idea.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. bennie and the jets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>when mikey meets frank‘s family, he realises he wasn’t lying about them loving sports. they’re all wearing the school colours - blue, white and gold. even frank has on a little knitted sweater with gold trim, which mikey finds absolutely adorable and teases him about relentlessly. there’s frank, his parents, two aunts, an uncle and a handful of younger cousins. frank’s mom won’t stop talking about how mikey looks like “such a nice boy”. that’s adult talk for “total nerd”. it’s probably something about the glasses. she means well. </p>
<p>they sit on the first row of the bleachers and frank takes a cigarette from his pocket, asking mikey to light it.<br/>
“i know you’ve got a lighter. you always have one”, he prompts, but mikey still stands there in shock for another couple of seconds before he does as frank asks. he almost objects with, ‘in front of your family? and on school property?’, but there’s not a lot of people around yet, and frank’s family are easily the most laidback people he’s met in this town so far. </p>
<p>jamia spots them, bouncing over to them in all her peppy glory. frank offers her a drag, but she says her coach has eagle eyes and turns it down.<br/>
“uniform looks good on you”, mikey can appreciate beauty when he sees it, and jamia is absolutely radiant. she does a twirl for him, her skirt doing the perfect amount of swooshing, and laughs when frank gives an encouraging wolf whistle.<br/>
“you guys are dorks”.<br/>
“seriously, the uniforms are classy”, mikey raises an eyebrow. “i somehow thought there’d be more glitter, though”.<br/>
“oh, mikey my darling, scholastic cheer is ever so classy, but wait until i drag you to my all star cheer comps this summer”, her eyes light up. she hands mikey her pom-poms so that she can fix her half blonde, half brown ponytail, and he just stands there awkwardly with them, listening to her speak. “think big hair, bigger bows, makeup, and all the glitter your little heart desires”.<br/>
“oh, god, your all star competitions. there’s something so beautiful about seeing you in those glittery a-line skirts”, frank is half joking and half flirting, taking a drag of his cigarette. </p>
<p>they almost don’t notice the belleville team walk out onto the field, or the people bustling into the bleachers, chattering with excitement. mikey thrusts jamia’s pom-poms back into her hands because he’s ninety percent sure pete is one of these guys, and he’ll be damned if he sees him waving little bits of blue and gold tinsel around. it’s a good look on jamia, but not on him. </p>
<p>“i should run through our defence cheers one more time before the game”, she glances around, like she’s still trying to scope out mikey’s mystery man. frank’s cousin, he can’t be any older than fourteen, interrupts them.<br/>
“you can run through it right here, jamia, i’ll give you some pointers”. it comes off as more pitiful than predatory, given that he’s less than five feet tall and wearing light up sneakers, and the way jamia laughs makes mikey believe this is something she goes through a lot.<br/>
“nice try, kid. you’re getting better at that”, she kisses both mikey and frank on the cheek, tightens her pony tail one last time, and walks back off to join her team. she stubs frank’s cigarette out in the grass before she goes, because that’s jamia for you - always going out of her way to keep frank out of trouble. </p>
<p>it’s sort of insane that he’s student body president instead of her. </p>
<p>“screw you, paco, you could’ve helped me out”.<br/>
“get lost, romeo, jamia isn’t gonna go to chuck-e-cheese with you”, frank turns his little cousin around and shoves him in the direction of the aunt who mikey assumes is his parent.<br/>
“paco”, mikey teases, repeating the nickname. frank’s cheeks flush red. </p>
<p>his mom doesn’t let him be his usual rowdy self during the game, telling him to sit up straight, keep quiet and stop ogling jamia. mikey follows her orders even if they weren’t directed at him, because as nice as she is, mrs. iero has a sort of terrifying sternness. </p>
<p>it’s okay, though, because it means that he doesn’t have to listen to frank point at every single footballer and ask, “is that your guy”, even when mikey vehemently protests that he doesn’t have ‘a guy’, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to recognise him with his football gear on.</p>
<p>instead, mikey watches jamia. she’s a flyer, and she stands at the top of that pyramid like she owns it. frank looks at her with so much love in his eyes, and mikey wonders how lucky frank is to have a best friend like her - he misses having a bond like that. sure, frank calls him his best friend, but the barely know each other. not really. the closest mikey’s ever gotten to that is gerard. </p>
<p>he can’t focus on the football, but the cheerleading kind of reminds him of his mom: she took him to florida a couple of years ago and their motel was hosting bus loads of cheerleaders, there for a competition. waking up to them practicing in the lobby should’ve been annoying, but donna way is quite the extrovert. she’d gone right up to them and asked them to teach her a dance, while mikey watched (embarrassed but impressed) from the corner. she always lit up a room. things were so simple when it was just her and him against the world. </p>
<p>mikey manages to daydream for a whole hour, and is only brought back to reality by frank grabbing his sleeve and shouting, “we scored! mikes, we won!”. mikey is then dragged to his feet to participate in cheering for something he has no concept of, which seems so american, but he does find it enchanting how ecstatic jamia and the rest of the people on the pitch look. </p>
<p>he idly claps and follows her movement as she bounces into a rapid embrace with the quarterback, who takes off his helmet to reveal the hair that mikey has his hands tangled in not fortyeight hours prior. it’s pete. </p>
<p>their eyes meet from across the field, and god, mikey’s heart just about leaps out of his chest as pete gives him a sweet, semi awkward wave. he feels himself burning up. </p>
<p>frank turns to face mikey, mouth agape, stricken with the most bewildered facial expression mikey’s ever seen him pull.<br/>
“no way”, he whisper-shouts, looking back and forth like a broken pendulum. “no fucking way, mikes”, he says again, adding an expletive for dramatic effect.<br/>
“i kissed the quarterback?”, mikey asks.<br/>
“you kissed pete fucking wentz, dude”.  </p>
<p>mikey isn’t stupid. yes, he’s not in the habit of following football, but he’s seen enough trashy after-school television to know that the quarterback is always the tall white guy who gets all the girls. </p>
<p>except, pete isn’t tall. he certainly isn’t white. and if the party is enough evidence, he definitely doesn’t seek female attention. </p>
<p>frank’s family start getting ready to leave the second the game ends, so jamia comes over and says goodbye. mikey kicks frank to make sure he holds his tongue, which - thank god - he does. mikey’s almost relieved he isn’t getting a ride back with him, because he knows frank would probably blurt out something stupid. he can’t emotionally handle mrs iero’s perception of him changing from “nice boy” to “the gay one”, or worse, “the slut”. </p>
<p>it’s happened before. </p>
<p>that’s why mikey drags pete aside while his family pile into the two cars that they arrived in.<br/>
“so, you and the quarterback! i seriously didn’t even know he was gay”.<br/>
“jesus”, mikey looks around, like someone’s going to pop out of the bushes behind them. “i don’t know if he is either. but you know him?”.<br/>
“i’m student body president and he, i repeat, is the freaking quarterback, mikey. of course i know him. everybody knows him”.<br/>
“well he said he was nobody! just a football player! how was i supposed to know your school holds the qb on some creepy pedestal”, mikey almost shouts, earning a few glances from frank’s family. frank shushes him and then laughs.<br/>
“you’re hopeless”, he tells him. mikey nods.<br/>
“i know. but i kissed the quarterback, so i guess i’ve got that going for me”. </p>
<p>it’s a joke riddled with sarcasm and panic, and frank shows his sadistic side by laughing at it. then, frank has to go, and mikey is left standing in the parking lot. he’s supposed to phone gerard to pick him up but all he can do is stand there and think about how fucked is. how fucked he is that pete isn’t just a nobody like he made himself out to be, and how fucked he is that he genuinely likes this guy. </p>
<p>he wants to fly under the radar until he can leave belleville. he can’t do that if he has a crush on the fucking quarterback of the football team.</p>
<p>there’s a familiar chill that comes with the darkness, the air crisp like it is in the city. a gentle gust of wind sends a chill down mikey’s arms, and he looks upwards, letting it hit his neck, smiling to himself slightly. his mom taught him this trick where you find more and more stars every time you open and close your eyes, so he tries it. it’s got to be an optional illusion, or a trick of the light, but it’s amusing him just like it did when he was a kid. </p>
<p>he doesn’t notice a chevrolet pull up at the side of him. </p>
<p>“have you gotten into the habit of shouting at the sky, now? my god, i’m a bad influence”, the driver leans out of the window. mikey whips his head around to see who it is, and is met with an absolutely devastatingly handsome smile. he approaches the vehicle, smiling back. there’s nobody in the parking lot now.<br/>
“pete”.<br/>
“mikey”, he replies. “you want a ride home?”. </p>
<p>he shoves his phone back into the pocket of his jacket and takes pete up on the offer, making it a shocking thirty seconds before he brings up the matter at hand.<br/>
“you’re the fucking quarterback of the belleville buccaneers”, he sighs. pete doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but he gives a smug little grin.<br/>
“i’ve never been one to brag. where you headed?”.<br/>
“123 white oak, is that on route for you?”, mikey asks, being weirdly polite, and after pete nods yes, they sit there in silence. there’s something about how pristine pete keeps his car that makes him want to use please and thank you. </p>
<p>the local radio station starts playing elton john as they turn the corner of white oak. it’s a neighbourhood where every house looks like the same boring, grey suburban with a white picket fence. mikey likes this song. bennie and the jets - it’s got a tempo that makes his stomach flutter (though this company may be adding to the nerves significantly). </p>
<p>he can hardly collect a thought, his brain whirring at warp speed. pete stops the car when he finds house number 123, but he doesn’t turn the engine off, because he seems to be enjoying the song too. </p>
<p>“that your house?”.<br/>
“it is”, mikey whispers. he doesn’t know why he’s whispering, it’s not like anyone inside can possible hear them from here, but pete goes along with it.<br/>
“did you enjoy the game?”.<br/>
mikey responds with, “the quarterback was pretty cute”, which makes pete red in the face. </p>
<p>mikey can’t stop staring at his lips. he’s reliving the party in his head, and he knows pete is too.<br/>
“pete”, mikey leans forward, mouth parted ever so slight. pete does the same, his fingers shaking slightly against mikey’s face when he reaches up to touch him.<br/>
“mikeyway, are you...”, pete trails off. mikey leans in some more, and just as they’re about to kiss, pete’s phone rings. </p>
<p>“shit”, he groans, pulling away and looking at his caller ID. “it’s my dad, he probably wants me home”.<br/>
“oh! okay, no problem”, mikey unbuckles his seatbelt and straightens himself up, voice returning to a normal volume. “i’ll just, i’ll let you get going. you haven’t got far to go, have you?”.<br/>
“i live on van houten”, pete leans over to open the car door for him, and mikey smells his cologne, the scent lingering even when he hops out of the car.<br/>
“i’ll see you around?”.<br/>
“see you around”, pete smiles, and then he’s gone, driving back the way he came from. </p>
<p>that’s when mikey realises that pete doesn’t live “on route” like he said. van houten is back in the opposite direction, past school. </p>
<p>pete lied. </p>
<p>so that he could give mikey a ride. </p>
<p>maybe a crush on the quarterback isn’t going to be as unattainable as mikey originally thought.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. post kiss clarity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>three days pass by, and things don’t change. mikey’s not sure why he got his hopes up by thinking life would just become a walk in the park after a car ride with the quarterback. </p><p>he hates that a part of him really thought they’d become a gold star couple overnight. he’s been having vivid, maladaptive daydreams about walking hand in hand with pete through the halls at school, and cheering him on at games, and being his date to prom. he thinks up little scenarios - picnic dates, roadtrips - to get him through the school week, to make up for the fact that pete seems to have completely forgotten he exists. </p><p>frank was right, mikey’s hopeless. he even has a dream about pete when he lies down for an hour on thursday afternoon. it involves a cheer uniform and pom poms, and makes mikey wake up in a hot sweat. he pulls his sheets back and bundles them into a ball, throwing them into the corner of the room, and then changes into a different pair of pants before he goes downstairs. </p><p>ray and gerard are sat on the barstools, a big bowl between them on the kitchen island. mikey doesn’t ask what it is,he just dips a finger in and licks it.<br/>
“oh, vanilla?”, he asks, and ray nods, beaming. gerard seems to have a slightly more violent response.<br/>
“there’s raw egg in there, dumbass”, he snatches the mixture away and shoves it in the oven.<br/>
“set the timer for twenty”, ray reads off a sheet of paper they’ve printed out. </p><p>“crazy friday night, huh?”, mikey snorts, because he can hardly believe he’s seeing two men alone, baking cake on a friday night. before he moved here, mikey was never even home on a friday - it was school, skate park, someone’s house, predrinks, punk show, after party, and, on occasion, the finale was a trip to the emergency room. almost always with gabe.<br/>
“hey, laugh it up. we found some old mix and there’s nothing else in the cupboard”, gerard takes mikey’s face in his hands. “and we’re pretty buzzed”.<br/>
“that too”, ray laughs, and then mikey sees their bloodshot eyes and puts it all together. </p><p>mikey likes gerard when he’s high. he’s less snappy and more cuddly - even now, he throws an arm around his baby brother’s shoulder, and mikey finds himself leaning into his warmth like he’s still nine. it’s nostalgic. it’s nice. </p><p>“how much am i gonna have to pay you to cover for me tonight?”, he asks, the hug clearly coming with a catch. “i’m sneaking out”.<br/>
“isn’t dad working late? just leave, dude, it’s not hard”.<br/>
“i’m sneaking out to frank’s house and i’m not gonna be back til the morning - possibly mid day if frank manages to skip a class or two”, gerard sounds reluctant to tell him, obviously annoyed that banging frank iero isn’t his dirty little secret anymore. </p><p>god, mikey still isn’t used to the idea of his best friend and brother shacking up. if he could take back knowledge of the whole ordeal, he would. </p><p>he thinks about blackmail - asking for money, or for the rest of their weed - but mikey’s just a former shell of himself now that he’s not in the city. he’s actually looking forward to having the house to himself, so he just shakes his head.<br/>
“i’ll cover you, pro bono”. </p><p>it’s sort of worth it to finally see a real smile on gerard’s face. ray gives him a stamp of approval, too. it feels good. </p><p>when the timer on the oven pings, mikey sticks around to help them pour their cake mix into little cupcake cases: they’re doing a shitty job of it, and the idea of three teenagers baking together seems a little too camp, but they power through and split the batch into three. gerard puts a container of them into his backpack, to take them to frank’s, where they’ll probably feed them to each other - the idea of which makes mikey gag - and ray takes a couple home for his mom and brothers. they leave the rest for mikey. </p><p>before gerard leaves, mikey asks him something. they’re not at a point where they can open up to each other yet, but doing this tiny activity has put a grin on mikey’s face for the first time all day. </p><p>“do people actually sneak into each other’s houses for secret bedroom picnics, or are you just a hopeless romantic?”, he asks. he scoffs, just so gerard doesn’t hear the secret twang of desperation in his voice.<br/>
“it runs in the family”, gerard looks mikey up and down. “once you find someone around here who reminds you of home, you stick with them, okay?”.<br/>
“okay”, mikey almost stutters, wondering what gerard knows that he doesn’t, and then he’s gone, walking to his car so that he can spend the night with someone who brings him comfort. </p><p>mikey can’t help but overthink the fact that gerard finds more home comfort in frank than he does in his own little brother. the years apart have been mean to them. </p><p>the separation has been mean on their dad too. he’s been begging mikey for a ‘nice photo to put on the mantle’, alongside the seventeen photos of gerard. he walks into the living room to look at them now, his first moment alone in the house in weeks. there’s gerard at prom, gerard at graduation, gerard at christmas. they’ve all got shiny glass frames. there’s no trace of mikey’s life, his existence, at all, and maybe that was a coping mechanism. mikey can’t help but feel awful, the guilt of the divorce making his skin crawl as he stares at himself in the mirrored photo frame. </p><p>picking sides came back to haunt him. moving  to belleville seems like karma and kismet all at once. </p><p>he’s been alone for almost an hour before mikey gets so excruciatingly bored that he fears his eyes might fall out of his head, so he grabs whats left of gerard and ray’s cupcakes and hauls ass upstairs to continue his pity party in the privacy of his bedroom. he only makes it halfway through changing into an old joy division t-shirt when he hears tapping at his open window. </p><p>at first he thinks it’s a bird, but then the screen lifts up and before he can yell at the possible home intruder, the quarterback of the football team is climbing through his window and landing (not so gracefully) on his bedroom floor. </p><p>“pete? jesus christ”, mikey rushes over to help pete to his feet. he’s got a blue letterman jacket and ripped jeans on, looking like the perfect mix of the city and the suburbs. mikey feels himself get all hot, like pete standing there looking unethically attractive completely makes up for the fact that he just broke into his house.<br/>
“hey, mikeyway”, he grins. “did you miss me?”. </p><p>pete makes a b-line for mikey’s bed, kicking off his shoes and sitting there, cross legged and attentive as he awaits an answer. mikey barely stutters out a single word at first, sitting right in front of pete and staring at him for a painfully long amount of time. </p><p>“you broke into my house?!”.<br/>
“yeah, you have a tree right there”. </p><p>you ask a dumb question, you get a dumb answer. </p><p>“i wanted to text you, but i don’t have your number. i thought it’d be weird ringing the doorbell in case gerard answered. i don’t know if you’ve told him we‘re friends”, he explains. mikey looks at him, pauses, and then smiles.<br/>
“we’re friends?”.<br/>
“shut up”, pete catches the sarcasm, thank god. “so i’m there on your lawn, debating every last action that had lead me to that very moment, and i see you getting changed through the window - you really gotta not do that, mikeyway - so i climbed up the tree and... here we are”.<br/>
“well”, mikey says, looking over at the other boy, a gentle smile creeping across his face. “nobody’s home. you could’ve knocked”.<br/>
“life seems more fun when you’re climbing through pretty boy’s windows”. </p><p>he’s not sure how it happens - if it’s a combination of the odd circumstances and the empty house, or the way pete laughs infectiously as the two exchange pointless conversation under dim lighting - but he’s leaning in to kiss him. </p><p>it feels like a house has been lifted off of his chest when pete blinks twice and then kisses back. he knocks mikey’s glasses askew slightly as they collide, but neither of them seems to notice. they’re both too busy forgetting that there’s a world outside of these four walls. </p><p>“wait, wait”, mikey takes the older boy’s face in his hands when they break apart, a finger under pete’s chin to tilt his head upwards, forcing eye contact in the most benign way. “you’ve been avoiding me”.<br/>
“not avoiding, more like trying to be nonchalant”.<br/>
“because you’re scared?”.<br/>
“scared of the way you make me feel”, pete nods. “i like you, mikeyway. i like you more than i like myself, and i’ve never felt like that about a boy before. about anyone, actually”. </p><p>he’s visibly nervous, his hands shaking. mikey cradles his face, then drops his hand down to play with the collar of the letterman jacket.<br/>
“this looks cute on you, quarterback”, he tells him, leaning in to plant the softest kiss possibly on the boy’s lips. “i like you too. you’re different to a lot of people here”.<br/>
“can we...”, pete swallows. “i don’t know if i’m...”.<br/>
“do you like kissing me?”.<br/>
“yes”.<br/>
“then you are”, mikey’s omniscient when it comes to reading other people’s post kiss clarity. he went to an arts school where secret bathroom hookups were a regular occurrence, and he can smell the guilt of same sex attraction from a mile away. </p><p>the conversation dies, as does the kissing. mikey focuses on pete’s hands, because he likes to look at pete’s hands: how there’s two particularly thick veins on the right one and how the the nails have little slivers of chipped pink polish. </p><p>“mikey...", chimes pete after a while<br/>
"don’t say anything that a dumbass would say", mikey urges, and pete falls silent. </p><p>there’s only an inch between their lips. </p><p>mikey thinks, ‘maybe gerard gives good advice’. </p><p>and then suddenly there‘s no space at all,  because they’re kissing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. friday, i’m in love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw//<br/>SLIGHTLY nsfw (not quite smut)<br/>mentions of drug use<br/>&lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>friday is usually a drag, and the anticipation of the upcoming weekend makes it seem like watching paint dry would be a more stimulating activity. it doesn’t help that mikey’s got an otherworldly distraction, right there in his fresh memories, vivid and colourful. </p><p>pete tastes like strawberries and cigarettes and coffee, and it makes mikey weak at the knees. it should be sort of disgusting, but it’s not. mikey needs coffee like he needs pete’s lips. it’s confusing.</p><p>this friday is particularly boring. alicia has gone completely missing in action, jamia has practice, and frank’s nowhere to be seen - almost definitely with the way brother of his preference. mikey pretends not to be a little hurt. frank saw gerard first. he’s got every right to prefer his company over mikey’s. </p><p>his friends suddenly having better and bigger things doesn’t really bother him until the final bell rings, and mikey, panic stricken, realises he’s going to have to take the bus home. he usually relies on frank, or walks, because he’d rather walk for thirty minutes than sit crammed in a rattly yellow death cab with a bunch of rowdy kids who smell like sweat and lunch meat. so he’s walking, no deliberation necessary. </p><p>except, it’s raining. </p><p>“fucking belleville”. </p><p>he sets off down the barely familiar street, where all the houses look the same - two stories, beige, perfectly cut grass lined with white picket fences. he thinks about how his mom made exaggerated gagging noises every time they used to see houses like these. she’d say, “plastic houses for plastic people. the life drained out of them it’s a shame”. he’s pretty sure her propaganda has gotten to him. he feels sick to his stomach. </p><p>the rain is torrential before he’s even a block away from school, so he pulls up his hood and ducks under a tree - the best shelter he can find- planning on waiting until the skies clear at least a fraction.</p><p>it’s that fine rain that looks like nothing but has the power to completely soak you, and mikey - being a sickly little kid for most of his childhood - knows for a fact that he’s going to get sick if he doesn’t get indoors soon. it’s him against the world, though, because he’s got absolutely no idea where the nearest building is. </p><p>then comes that black chevy to the rescue once again. pete wentz pulling up beside mikey and rolling down his window is becoming all too familiar: he definitely has a knight in shining armour complex; rescuing mikey from resembling a drowning rat anymore than he already does is clearly fuelling that. </p><p>mikey doesn’t even ask, he just pulls open the passenger side door the second pete stops, and takes down his hood once he’s safe and dry inside of the vehicle. he quickly realises that pete’s seats are heated, at least the front ones are, and mikey debates proposing to him there and then for being such a hero. marriages seems like a small price to pay to have warm car seats every day of your life. </p><p>“you’ve been holding out on me! how did you afford these seats, high school senior?”, mikey teases, trembling a little, gesturing at the seat he’s sat in.<br/>
“okay, mikeyway. i’ll tell you how i pimped out my car once you tell me why i found you standing in possibly the worst rainstorm in months”, pete mocks. “your seatbelt”.<br/>
“huh?”, mikey misses. instead of repeating what he said, the other boy leans across mikey, in such close proximity that he can feel his breath. </p><p>it’s gentle on his neck. mikey thinks, if pete isn’t going to instigate anything, he’ll die from lack of attention right here in this car. </p><p>theres the gentle click of mikey’s seatbelt, and then pete is leaning away. he switches gears so that he can turn back onto the road. mikey looks at him - looks at his hands as they clutch the wheel - and swallows a lump of unprovoked nervousness in his throat. </p><p>“everyone ditched me today”, mikey says after a minute. “frank’s off getting his dick wet, jamia and alicia are busy too, and you’re my only other friend in this god damn hell hole”. </p><p>he sounds defeated, so much so that pete reaches a hand across and squeezes his thigh. it’s a comforting gesture, but it sends shockwaves up mikey’s spine. </p><p>“friends who kiss?”, pete grins, moronically. mikey rolls his eyes, but can’t stop himself smiling a little.<br/>
“friends who kiss, yeah. where are you taking me, exactly? because this literally isn’t the way to either of our houses”, mikey looks out the window where the trees have turned to stores. they’re in the town centre, if you can even call it that, a place that mikey only visits if he’s being dragged to the farmers market with his dad. </p><p>it’s got more rows and rows of faded beige building that look like they came straight out of a low budget cowboy movie, and mikey’s half expecting a guy with a cowboy hat to cross the street on his horse. mikey watched that movie with a few kids from his old school, and he had to excuse himself to go to the bathroom so that he could cry. </p><p>he laughs to himself as they turn out of the old part of town and find themselves driving into the more ‘modern’ stores. there’s a starbucks, which he’s itching for, but he doesn’t want to interrupt whatever pete is planning. </p><p>mikey’s technically being kidnapped by the quarterback of the football team right now. </p><p>he’s kind of into it. </p><p>“there she is”, pete finally vagues, turning into a parking spot. straight ahead in mikey’s eye-line is a walmart, a beautiful concrete oasis. a wave of familiarity washes over him.<br/>
“we have a walmart in belleville?”, he asks. pete laughs.<br/>
“technically we’re a town over from belleville right now, but yeah, we have a walmart within twenty minutes driving distance and you’re only just finding it out. this place is full of surprises”, he leans across and places a quick, surprise kiss on mikey’s lips. “wait here. i’ll be back”.</p><p>mikey watches pete run inside the store as fast as he can to avoid the rain, and then pulls off his wet hoodie. he’s left in just a grubby old smashing pumpkins t-shirt that he’s had since before his growth spurt, so his stomach area shows slightly when he raises his arms, but the accidental peep show beats getting pneumonia. </p><p>pete doesn’t seem to mind, either. when he gets back to the car ten minutes later. he’s carrying a bag with him, which he dumps the contents of into his lap: there’s two tubs of ice cream - strawberry and chocolate - and a two litre bottle of coke zero to share between them.<br/>
“it’s a cheat day. my treat”, pete says, and then looks mikey up and down. “jesus, you need me to take you clothes shopping while we’re here?”.<br/>
“shut up. my hoodie got wet”, mikey feels himself go hot.<br/>
“so you’re not just stripping down for me? kind of disappointing”, pete shrugs off his letterman jacket and passes it to the other boy. “these tubs have spoons inside of them. you want the chocolate? because strawberry is my favourite”.<br/>
“chocolate is fine”, mikey blinks in disbelief for a few seconds before he puts on the jacket - it fits snug against him, but it’s comfortable. the leather is worn and the cuffs are fraying. he feels closer to pete than ever, wrapped up in this little piece of history. </p><p>they sit in silence and eat their ice cream with shitty wooden spoons, but it’s nice. the rain shows no sign of stopping while they’re safe inside the chevy: alone, warm and dry. mikey thinks fast about how pete tastes like strawberries when they kiss. he wonders how often pete eats strawberry ice cream. he wonders how long it’s going to be until they kiss again. </p><p>“what’re you thinking about, mikeyway?”, pete asks on cue.<br/>
“how come you’re so nice to me?”, mikey asks, straight up. he doesn’t know how pete manages to always be there when things are going badly, like some kind of guardian angel with dreads and eyeliner and unimaginably tight jeans. “i don’t understand how you’re so selfless. you hardly know me”.<br/>
“you know what fate is, mikey?”, pete asks, watching the younger boy nod. “it means it’s all going to be worth the wait. you’ve had a shitty few weeks”.<br/>
“months”, he interjects.<br/>
“a shitty few months”, pete corrects himself. “so think of me as your light at the end of the tunnel”. </p><p>that gets mikey thinking about what gerard said. about how ‘once you find someone around here who reminds you of home, you stick with them’. gerard has frank. </p><p>he wants a frank too. he thought he wanted frank, full stop, at first, but mikey realises now that he just wants the idea of frank. he’s envious. </p><p>and then he just can’t help himself. </p><p>there’s a scramble to move the ice cream tubs and spoons, a few grunts as pete pulls mikey to sit in his lap, and a struggle to push the seat back, but they’re kissing again. it’s frantic but gentle, so much so that he‘s barely touching pete, and after a minute, mikey feels cold hands inspecting every inch of his body under the borrowed letterman jacket. it’s like pete’s mapping him out: tracing fingers down bumpy ribs; running them over the smooth planes of his shoulders. it’s adorable. </p><p>“my buddy andy - he put in the heated seats for me last time i visited him”, pete comes out with a delayed explanation, so out of place that mikey almost kills him.<br/>
“shut up”, he says, and watches a smirk  appear across pete’s face. “you really don’t know how to read the room, do you?”.<br/>
“i don’t”, he admits. “i’m a charmer, though, aren’t i?”. </p><p>mikey makes a facial expression that signifies agreement. he’s all too aware of the fact that eighty percent of the boy’s charm is sheer, unadulterated sarcasm; he’s sort of falling for it. </p><p>he kisses pete again, testing the waters with a little tongue. pete reacts well, with a low grunt that somewhat resembles a moan. it isn’t quite there, but it sends mikey’s impure thoughts into orbit. he knows what he wants to do. he’s done this before. he’s practically an expert at this. </p><p>his lips leave pete’s and attach to his jaw instead, making the older boy’s body jolt upwards. there’s undeniable friction, as well as tension that a knife couldn’t cut. it feels scandalous, doing this in a parking lot, but the windows are tinted and the lot is deserted, and the rain is so torrential that they can’t see out, let alone have people see in. plus, mikey’s been a lot dirtier in more public places than this. fuck it. </p><p>he’s kissing pete’s neck now, and pete is trembling like he’s been waiting his whole life for this. it’s when the prettiest little noise escapes his lips that mikey takes the leap, taking pete’s belt in one hand. he’s so close to getting his hands on him, mouth almost watering.</p><p>then pete grabs his arm, and pulls away.</p><p>“mikey”, he says, straightening up. “i... i’ve never done that before”. </p><p>mikey blinks and then clambers back into his own seat, chewing on his own bottom lip for a while. his face is burning bright red, and he thinks about leaving, but they’re a town over and he’s just going to have to deal with the embarrassment of rejection. </p><p>he’s never been rejected before. back in the city, his friendship circle trade each other’s bodies like pokemon cards. he’s probably hooked up with half his grade at this point, and he’s never once been told “no”. people want him. pete’s different. he’s not sure why that’s drawing him in more. </p><p>“you’ve never been with a dude before? because i don’t really wanna be your big, gay dumbledore”.<br/>
“woah, asshole”, pete only looks semi offended. “i just thought we had something deeper than just... that stuff. i want to know you, mikeyway. really know you. you’ve got up so many walls... please, just let me in. i want to see if you’re as beautiful inside as you are out”. </p><p>pete’s smile, and his way with words, are a good method of persuasion. that’s how they end up in the city. new jersey. the second the skyline becomes visible, mikey knows he’s home. his shoulders relax, and his head feels lighter. </p><p>he gives pete the directions to fifteen orchard street, the brick building wedged between a corner store and another apartment. the fire escape is rusted and firetruck red, and there’s a bike leaning against the wall outside. the first two stories look alive, lived in. mikey doesn’t care about the bike or the clothes hanging from the second story balcony, or the lights on in the windows. he steps out of pete’s car - the ground is bone dry like it barely rained here - and casts his gaze up to the third floor. </p><p>it’s empty. the lights are out. there’s no sign of life. </p><p>pete steps out out of the car too, and stands on the sidewalk beside mikey.<br/>
“you home?”.<br/>
“yep”, mikey nods.<br/>
“so where’s your mom?”.<br/>
“i have no idea”. </p><p>mikey bites the insides of his cheeks, because he’d rather jam pencils into his eyes than cry right now.</p><p>“she leaves a lot - the worst time was when i was fifteen. she’d been dating this sketchy agent guy and went on a little weekend trip with him. i didn’t hear from her for a week, but it was fine, because it just meant more partying and less authority”, he laughs, weakly. “it got bad after a month, though. she’d been coked out in ibiza with him the whole time, and she only came back because they broke up - not even because of me. she was super nice when she got back, though. i guess at the time, a new skateboard and a computer made up for the neglect, but now i keep expecting her to come running out of that building with her arms wide open, ready to shower me in gifts and apologies, and for it to be all okay: i’ve got the coolest dad ever and he’s trying so hard to settle me in, and i feel like the world’s biggest asshole because i’d take my deadbeat mom over that sweet old man in a heartbeat, because i just want it to be okay again”. </p><p>it is okay, though, just not in the way mikey expects. because pete reaches over and takes his hand, intertwining their fingers.<br/>
“thank you”, he says, squeezing. “for letting me in”.<br/>
“that’s okay”, mikey nods. “i wanted to”.</p><p>to anyone else, it’s a pair of rather blank statements, but it means everything to the boys who are standing on the sidewalk, holding hands, in their own little bubble. </p><p>pete’s never done this before. and in way, neither has mikey.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. secrets (are overrated)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>mikey’s got a plan to keep whatever he has with the quarterback on the down-low. it’s reassuring that he can count the people who know on one hand - besides him and pete, frank is the only outsider with inside information, but he can trust that frank isn’t going to tell anyone.</p><p>not even when mikey turns up to school in the stolen letterman jacket. he gets clocked by alicia and jamia the minute him and frank walk into the band room together. </p><p>“jesus, you fucked him, didn’t you?”, jamia sighs.<br/>
“what, mikey? no, i’m fucking his brother”, frank passes off the comment nonchalantly enough to make the girl choke down a laugh.<br/>
“i, on the other hand, am not fucking anyone”, mikey slings his bag into a corner and takes a seat. “we got ice cream, we ate it in his car, and he gave me his jacket because i was cold”.<br/>
“and you wearing it to school is just a big neon question mark above your head with the words ‘who is he boning?’, mikey”, alicia says, but then her face softens. “he actually sounds sweet, whoever he is”. </p><p>it’s less sarcastic and more chipper than normal, which throws everybody off.<br/>
“thanks?”, mikey phrases it like a question, but then puts his arm around the girl’s shoulders. “that actually means a lot coming from you. when did you decide you were talking to me, again?”.<br/>
“i was kinda pissed about you not talking to me about like... us, i guess. but i get it. you’ve got a guy, and he makes you happy, so i’m happy for you. even if you’re not telling your three best friends who he is”.<br/>
“oh, no no”, frank interjects. “i know who he is”. </p><p>then jamia and alicia are drilling frank, practically begging on their knees for him to tell them, and the whole scene is kind of manic. mikey can’t figure out wether frank isn’t caving because he respects mikey, or if it’s just because he’s enjoying the attention, but either way he knows his secret is safe with frank.</p><p>“i’m not telling!”, he finally snaps, and jamia drapes herself over frank’s lap, as dramatically as she can.<br/>
“but however will i sleep knowing mikey is sleeping with half the football team?”.<br/>
“fuck you guys, the lie is evolving”, mikey says. “i had a bad enough reputation in the city. i don’t need it following me here”.<br/>
“mikey way had a rep?”, frank raises an eyebrow, wrapping his arm around jamia. she rests her head on his and seems to instantly relax. it sort of makes mikey feel lonely for a second, until he tunes in to the leather sleeves of pete’s letterman jacket against his bare arms.<br/>
“yes, and i’m definitely not giving the grievous details of my sex life - or lack thereof - to someone who’s in cahoots with my brother”.<br/>
“in cahoots”, alicia repeats, and then laughs. “just say having sex”. </p><p>“that makes one of us”, mikey sighs. frank laughs, and takes a cigarette out of his pocket (which jamia promptly takes away from him).<br/>
“quarterback doesn’t give out?”, he asks, and mikey shakes his head.<br/>
“no, he certainly does not. i’m telling you, he’s the first person i’ve kissed in a long time who doesn’t wanna at least, like... do things with me”. </p><p>just when he thinks he might be getting away with something, the boy in question slides into the band room, caramel skin and a perfect smile as always, arms swinging awkwardly by his sides. the room lights up as soon as he enters, but - not that mikey’s judging off of much - he seems more inept than usual.<br/>
“hey, mikey. i think i left my gum in my jacket pocket, can you check for me?”.</p><p>jamia makes a high pitched squealing noise. alicia laughs again, like this is the funniest joke she’s heard all year. mikey folds his head into his hands and prays that he’ll decompose into the dated band room carpet if he stays there long enough. </p><p>secrets are overrated anyway. he finds pete his gum, gives a sweet but awkward goodbye, and turns to face his friends, preparing himself for what turns out to be the longest lunch break of his life. </p><p>“local belleville reject, mikey way, and the fucking quarterback. genius”.</p><p>with help from frank, he manages to put off answering their questions long enough to be saved by the bell, and he’s never been as excited for sixth period spanish. his only class without alicia in is usually hell on earth, but today it’s the exact right amount of peace to let his brain work up a frenzy. he almost combusts . he literally makes señor diaz crack open the windows towards the end of the lessons just in case his body sets on fire. </p><p>it’s one thing to handle the fact that his friends know pete is the mystery guy - he trusts them just as much as he trusts frank - but it’s a whole other kettle of fish trying to run damage control on a rep that he doesn’t even have yet. how long was pete standing there? long enough to hear him say he had a reputation back in the city? long enough to hear him complain about the belt incident? maybe he wasn’t even there for his gum. what if he’d been there to apologise, and ended up hearing mikey essentially just call him frigid? </p><p>mikey doesn’t get embarrassed. he just overthinks until he explodes. </p><p>he got that from his mom. </p><p>he calls pete as soon as he gets home that night, locking himself in his bathroom like it’s some secret mission. he’s nervous, chewing down on his bottom lip as he listens for the ring. then, after a crackling noise, he connects to pete’s line. </p><p>“hey”, he says, straight away, sounding excited like a puppy dog. pete sounds less enthusiastic.<br/>
“hi, mikeyway. what’s-“.<br/>
“it doesn’t matter to me that you don’t like sex”, mikey blurts out. a painfully long silence ensues. </p><p>“mikey...”, pete’s voice is quiet, like he’s also hiding. maybe they’re both locked away in bathrooms to have this conversation, keeping the real world uninvolved in whatever it is they’re doing. “it’s not that i don’t like it, i’ve just... never done it”.<br/>
“with a guy?”, mikey finishes.<br/>
“no”, pete corrects. </p><p>oh. that makes more sense. </p><p>“look, i don’t know what your life was like in the city, but us - you and me - is gonna be different. i spent years hating myself for having these feelings. i don’t want to rush into them with the first boy who’s available”.</p><p>us. you and me. mikey loves those words. </p><p>“i know a thing or two about that”, mikey laughs, sort of pitying himself in the process. “i can tell you about my reputation another time”.<br/>
“it’s a date”, pete says, and mikey can practically feel him smiling through the phone. “hey, did frank and jamia find out? and that scary girl”.<br/>
“the scary one is alicia, and yeah, all three of them. but i swear to god they just know me freakily well or something, i won’t tell anyone. this is our thing”, he says. “us”. it feels hot on his tongue. he never knew a word could make his head spin.<br/>
“i gotta go, but i’ll see you tomorrow. you should wear my jacket again, you looked really good today”.<br/>
“you flirting?”, mikey raises his eyebrow with a surprised smile.<br/>
“maybe i’m just complimenting you”, pete’s voice is so low now, deep and croaky, and mikey can feel his heart racing like they’re back in his car. “or maybe i’m weighing up the odds of us going to third base”. </p><p>he ends the call after that, leaving mikey staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. he collects himself, shoves his phone into his pocket, and runs the tap. as he splashes the cool water over his face, he repeats what pete said over and over in his mind. he didn’t even know he knew how to talk like that.</p><p>he wipes his face dry as best as he can with the hand towel, and goes back into his bedroom, where gerard is sat cross legged at the end of his bed. </p><p>“jesus christ”, mikey almost yells. “what the fuck do you want?”.<br/>
“taking phonecalls in the bathroom, how very ‘the parent trap’ of you”, he smirks, knowing mikey won’t understand the reference. even after all they’ve been through, annoying each other always seems to be top of the agenda. it’s, obviously, very annoying; it’s also a nice bit of normality. that’s why mikey hasn’t blown his lid about him sneaking around like that.<br/>
“how much of it did you hear?”, he sits on the bed next to his brother.<br/>
“just enough to know you’re flirting with some poor girl. i knew you’d be a rogue, living with mom for so long, but i had no idea her hedonism had rubbed off on you”, gerard teases, and mikey laughs, because he doesn’t know the half of it. </p><p>then mikey’s face sinks, and he goes silent. he sucks the end of his thumb into his mouth. muscle memory. gerard notices.<br/>
“what’s up?”.<br/>
“i miss her”, mikey nods, the child in him half expecting his big brother to pull him into a bear hug like he used to. </p><p>they’re not kids anymore. gerard stays still. </p><p>“did you even miss me and dad?”, he asks, pointedly. mikey frowns.<br/>
“gee-“.<br/>
“because for what it’s worth, we missed you. on your birthday one year, dad made you a cake just in case you turned up. he sets an extra place for you at the table every thanksgiving”, gerard sighs and stands up. “we love you, mikes. start acting like you love us back”. </p><p>he ends on that note, leaving mikey alone in his room, asking himself what the hell just happened. he actually has to look up what ‘hedonism’ means, because gerard has a habit of thinking he’s better than people just because he knows substantial words. </p><p>he reads the definition out loud when he finds it. </p><p>“hedonism is a school of thought that argues seeking pleasure and avoiding suffering are the only components of well-being”. </p><p>and, as always, gerard is right. that’s their mother broken down to her fundamentals, all of her magic summarised in one measly sentence. he’s not quite sure if he fits the criteria, though. mikey’s entire personality is sort of blurred and hazy and up for interpretation. does he even have a personality?</p><p>he’s fucking overthinking again. </p><p>there’s only a few aspects of his character that he’s one hundred percent confident in: liking boys; liking girls; liking pete. </p><p>he has pete. at least he has pete. </p><p>does going after the quarterback make him hedonistic?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. dear god, it’s me, mikey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>mikey’s not sure, but he thinks pete sits with them at lunch now. football practice usually ends ten-ish minutes after their lunch period starts, so he always slides into the room and sits next to mikey, uninvited but still wanted. </p><p>mikey actually hangs around outside of the locker room one day, waiting. his plan is to ‘casually bump into’ pete and nonchalantly offer to walk him to the band room, but after five minutes of lingering, pretty much everybody besides pete has exited. mikey’s in the right mind to just leave, to not seem desperate, but the thing is... he is desperate. </p><p>it’s just pete, alone in the locker room when mikey walks in. he cocks his head to one side and smiles.<br/>
“i was waiting for you out there”, he blows his cover.<br/>
“hey, mikeyway. i was talking to coach, i’m sorry. good news is, he thinks i’ve been playing well enough to impress an actual, real talent scout”, he’s panting, out of breath and sweaty. he’s also shirtless, which is a whole other thing that mikey’s not ready to process just yet.<br/>
“yeah?”, mikey moves closer, giving an impressed smile. “so what’s the bad news?”.<br/>
“that you’re not kissing me right now”. </p><p>and fuck it, fuck the high chance of getting caught, because pete’s shirtless and practically begging for it, and mikey can’t turn him down when he’s all post-practice hot. they fall against the lockers, and mikey manages to get as much friction out of five minutes as humanly possible. </p><p>they go back to the band room afterwards, staggering their entrances so nobody gets suspicious. as always, pete finds an excuse to touch him. this time, it’s holding his ankle still while he doodles in sharpie on the edges of mikey’s sneakers: words and phrases and funny little shapes. mikey quickly realises he’s going to be walking around with vandalised shoes from now on, but he doesn’t dare ask pete to stop because his fingers feel red hot against the bare skin on his ankle, and he’s trying not to grin as he looks at the boy with the black hair and the gormless smile on his face. pete wentz is the most beautiful creature on the planet, and he has absolutely no idea. </p><p>sometimes joe sits with them too, and that’s cool, because he’s just as laid back as pete. not to mention he’s what mikey’s mom would call “serious eye candy”: thick eyebrows; lip ring; very obviously bleached hair that somehow really works for him. he’s gorgeous. jamia also seems to think so. so does frank. </p><p>he’s sat with them the day that alicia finds out about the wage gap and gets terrifyingly passionate about sexism. that’s also the day, friday, that mikey tugs pete off into their own private conversation, and gets characteristically bold. </p><p>“so, it’s friday”, he states, and pete nods slowly.<br/>
“your audition to be a news reporter?”.<br/>
“well, the weatherman gig never kicked off”, mikey plays along, and then rolls his eyes fondly. “do you wanna come over tonight? i have the house to myself. dad’s working a late shift and gerard is...”, he gestures in the direction of frank, who’s currently wrestling with jamia while she yells at him for smoking a cigarette out of the classroom window.<br/>
“reminds me how the fuck he’s our student body president?”, pete glances, and then looks back at mikey, right in the eyes, meaningful. “but yeah, okay. i’ll meet you up front later”.<br/>
“i’d kiss you if i could”, mikey leans in close, pressing their foreheads together for a few illicit seconds until joe comes and pulls a chair up beside them, and they break apart guiltily like magnets retracting. </p><p>mikey’s really nervous about pete coming over, for some reason. maybe the fact that he’ll be walking through the front door and not climbing through a window is all just scarily ‘official’. pete’s never seen the house before, not outside of mikey’s four walls. it’s typical belleville suburbia and mikey’s afraid pete’s gonna think he’s boring because of his father’s interior design choices. his dad has always been far tamer than his mom. back home, every room is a different vibrant colour, and she’s painted a mural on every door in the house: theres big bubble lettering that says “mikey fucking way!” on mikey’s door. it used to say “mikey and gerard!”. it stings a little to think about. </p><p>he’s a little calmer by the time they actually get to his house, though - the butterflies are pretty microscopic. he still plumps the cushions on the couch when pete walks in like he’s showing off an open house, which makes him realise that real estate is possibly the gayest career a man can go into, and jesus christ his head is producing one hundred thought a fucking minute. </p><p>pete doesn’t give a fuck about the mismatched pillows on the sofa or the coffee cup that’s been left out on the counter, obviously. he gravitates towards the french doors, presses his nose against the glass, and says one word.<br/>
“pool”. god. he’s like a puppy. </p><p>mikey slides the door open for him, and as he’s debating initiating a kiss, gerard comes out of the basement like he’s crawling out of a cave. he’s got an unlit cigarette hanging limply from one side of his mouth, and he double takes when he sees pete.<br/>
“is that belleville high’s prettiest QB?”, he half mocks, going in for one of those straight guy hand shake hug things. mikey laughs at the irony.<br/>
“freaky-cool art kid, gerard?”, pete mocks back, giving his champion grin. “how’s it going, dude?”.<br/>
“it’s going. i’m in art school, you know, i get to work on my comics on the semi reg. i had no idea my little brother was friends with the quarterback”. </p><p>friends. he’s technically right. they’re just friends. friends who like the taste of each other’s tongues. </p><p>“aren’t you at frank’s tonight?”, mikey asks. it comes out more blunt than he intended.<br/>
“yeah, i’m going in a second”, he mumbles, patting down his pockets. “shit. can you light this?”. </p><p>he’s lost his lighter, and common knowledge that mikey’s always got one. he doesn’t tell people, but he only carries it because his mom was always losing hers. he’s the man of their house, and he likes being dependable for her. it makes him feel more meaningful in her batshit crazy life. </p><p>“you smoke?”, gerard asks pete, leaning in so that mikey can light his cigarette for him. pete looks hesitant to agree, so mikey steps in.<br/>
“only really when there’s alcohol involved, right?”, he asks pete, who scrunches up his nose and then smiles.<br/>
“you a social smoker too?”.<br/>
“only because i can’t fucking afford to buy myself a pack a day like gerard can. my brother is a total chain smoker”, mikey jokes, and gerard smacks him on the arm.<br/>
“oh fuck you, mikes, i watched you smoke all the way to the filter behind church last sunday”, gerard raises an eyebrow, slowly stepping right into pete’s personal space. he cups the shorter boy’s chin with a single finger and tilts his head upwards, so that they’re looking at each other.<br/>
“we can’t have our star quarterback developing a nicotine addiction, can we? i can get you something else to smoke, prettyboy. would you like that?”, he asks, blowing smoke into pete’s face. he nods, totally frozen. mikey’s staring, shocked, at pete’s face to try and figure out where his head is at, but whatever he’s feeling, it’s probably equal parts turned on. </p><p>“if you’re gonna roll him a joint, you’re rolling one for me too”, he interrupts, seething with jealousy. gerard lets go of pete, who has a downright starstruck expression on his face.<br/>
“you can share the one i have rolled already, i’m on a time limit here and i’m not picking smoking with my brother over getting my dick wet”, gerard passes mikey his cigarette to hold while he goes back indoors, bound for the basement, probably snickering to himself over the shock factor of his exiting statement. </p><p>“never noticed how hot your brother is before”, pete gulps, and mikey groans, rolling his eyes.<br/>
“he’s toying with you. he’s a slut”, mikey says, calmly, sneaking a few drags and raising an eyebrow at pete. “we got it from mom”.<br/>
“you have nothing to worry about, mikes”, pete looks proud of himself for using the nickname he heard gerard use earlier, edging closer to mikey and pressing their hips together. there’s like four layers of fabric too many for mikey’s liking. he swallows, nervous, an emotion he’s not used to. </p><p>“besides”, pete whispers, rocking up onto his tip toes to loop an arm around mikey’s neck. “you’re much, much more my type”.<br/>
“yeah?”, mikey hums, so quiet that he can hear his own heart palpitating.<br/>
“doesn’t matter how many guys or girls you’ve been with. just means you can teach me”. </p><p>mikey’s pretty sure he’s going to implode if he doesn’t get pete alone pretty soon. </p><p>gerard comes back and swaps mikey, joint for cigarette. it’s sort of comedic, them supposedly being christian and all. he sticks to his promises and clears off pretty soon afterwards, and the boys smoke by the pool. they can’t smoke in the house because mikey’s pretty sure that would actually give his dad a heart attack, but they’re comfortable outside. </p><p>at first, pete’s got his jeans rolled up so that he can dip his feet into the water, but by the time they’ve finished smoking, he literally makes mikey lend him some trunks so that he can get in. and of course, mikey joins him after going through the flirtatious rigmarole of “we could just skinny dip”. he’s only half joking. </p><p>maybe it’s the weed talking, but he finds the confidence to ask a blunt little question. </p><p>“do you believe in church stuff?“. </p><p>pete is floating around in the pool now, though, so he doesn’t hear it. mikey repeats himself.<br/>
“i said do you believe in the stuff they teach us at church?”.<br/>
“i’m a teenager from chicago, i believe in nothing”, pete jokes, but even in the moonlight he can see mikey frowning from the edge of the pool. he walks over and places a couple of gentle kisses on the boy’s wet thighs.</p><p>“what do you wanna know?”, he gives in, preparing to give an actual answer.<br/>
“okay... i’ll be straight up. do you believe in god?”, mikey slides his body so that he’s stood in the pool. “i don’t see you at church”. they’re as eye-to-eye as possible with the height difference. pete is so beautiful under the orange-and-pink sky, especially when he bites his lip and drops his gaze like he’s concentrating really hard. </p><p>“i go to a different church, it’s... people like me. it’s gospel”, he nods. “and it’s fun, but i feel like i need to believe in something, right? to please my parents and... my heritage, i guess? but i just can’t bring myself to think there’s some omnipotent person up in the sky. i feel like a phoney when we say grace at family dinner”, pete nods, wrapping an arm around mikey’s waist under the water so that they’re flush together. mikey shudders as pete breathes against his neck, and kisses it gently before pulling away.<br/>
“but you do believe”, mikey says, not asks. he knows pete better than he knows himself in this specific moment . </p><p>“i think there’s a greater force, something that created us all”, pete traces the outline of mikey’s jaw and presses their foreheads together. “the universe did a good job making you”. </p><p>when pete kisses him, mikey melts into it, asking no further questions. it’s dirty, open mouthed, </p><p>“i want to come to gospel church with you sometimes, by the way”, mikey smiles between kisses. “there’s so much i don’t know about you. you go to gospel church. you’re from chicago”.  this makes pete laugh.<br/>
“i moved here two years ago, i swear i thought i told you”.<br/>
“you definitely did not tell me”, mikey moves in for a kiss, but pete stops him.<br/>
“just take me to your bedroom already”, he grins, looking around guiltily like they’re not completely alone. </p><p>mikey does as he’s told, so enlivened that it’s a little pitiful. he’s not sure what or who exactly created the world, but he knows that he’s the luckiest fucker in it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. reggie’s records</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>cw// discussions of nsfw</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>when mikey’s dad asks him, “what’s got you so cheerful, kid?”, in church on sunday, mikey’s not sure how to respond. he’s been grinning ear to ear for fourtyeight hours straight, but he’s definitely not up for telling his dad the reason.</p>
<p>he’s pretty sure there’s not a single person in the entire chapel that would appreciate the inner workings of mikey’s pre-martial sex life. his homosexual pre-marital sex life, nonetheless. </p>
<p>he’s especially sure he doesn’t want to tell his own father that he’s smiling because he can’t stop thinking about the desperate way pete whimpers when they’re rubbing up against each other, like he’s never been so intimate with someone in his life. </p>
<p>“just excited for church, i guess”, mikey lies, smiling at his dad, who gives him a look that says ‘that’s complete bullshit’ without actually saying anything.<br/>
“strange behaviour for an atheist”, his dad leans in and whispers, to which mikey makes a tiny little gasping sound.<br/>
“who told?”.<br/>
“kids your age don’t care about god, especially not ones who grew up in new jersey”, he shares his slightly pessimistic world view, and then smiles at his son. “it doesn’t matter to me, kid, i’m just glad you pretend to care. makes me feel important”. </p>
<p>mikey doesn’t have to repent for his sins. even if he did, gerard would have to repent twenty times harder. he staggers out of the bathroom and sits in the back row of the pews, frank pursuing him closely with his fly zipped down. gerard has a hand rested on frank’s thigh, playing him like it’s second nature, and frank is a giggling mess, hanging onto every whispered exchange. they’re not even subtle about it. at least mikey waited until they were alone in the house to cop a feel of pete through his boxers, and grind against him through layers upon layers until they both came in their skinny jeans - that’s a world away from whatever just went down in the church bathroom. </p>
<p>“go sit with them”, his dad prompts, catching mikey staring. “i liked sitting with my friends in church too. i’m actually seeing a movie with one of them after this”.<br/>
“a movie, wow, aren’t you just a fountain of youth?!”, mikey teases. </p>
<p>he decides his dad is pretty cool, and gets up to slide in the pew next to frank, who kisses him on the cheek despite the church setting, his mother ten feet away, and his boyfriend beside him. he’s a touched starved former catholic school kid, and a lot of his tokens of affection make sense when you read into them. </p>
<p>“goodmorning, whore number one and whore number two”, mikey greets them back, watching gerard smirk.<br/>
“which one am i? i think i should totally get top bill billing”.<br/>
“mikey likes me more”, frank winks. “it doesn’t matter who tops when the judge has a favourite”. </p>
<p>the conversation ends abruptly because the service begins, which mikey is entirely gracious for, because it means he can ignore everything that just happened and relive what happened on friday in glorious detail instead. he’s hung up on pete. he wants more than just awkward fumbling in the darkness and embarrassingly premature arrival. he wants a hand - maybe even a mouth - on pete without the barrier of clothing: to hear pete grunt; see his eyes flicker shut; to feel his body tense up as he spurs himself on. he wants praise and relentlessness and dirty, dirty things.  </p>
<p>he’s off his game big time at the moment. part of him thinks he should hit up someone back home for the first time in weeks. gabe always puts out. </p>
<p>when mikey got invited to the saporta’s winter vacation, the pair fell into a routine of boning each other to sleep every night to fight the jet lag. good logic. it helped, and gabe’s a good lay. a good friend too, because he acts like nothing has ever happened between the two until they’re desperate enough to start something back up. </p>
<p>and of course, there’s a small part of mikey that knows not everything is about the sex, but that part of him makes his skin crawl, overwashed with guilt and self hatred. that part makes it too real. he pushes that part of him down deep enough to forget about it completely, and if by chance it crawls back up like a spider, he promptly crushes it with mindless sex and rock n roll. self taught mechanisms. </p>
<p>the topic today is unnervingly fitting - the seven deadly sins. lust, gluttony, sloth, wrath, greed, envy and pride. mikey half listens, wondering what he’d be sent to hell for more than anything else. </p>
<p>gerard is definitely pride - an excessive view of himself with no regard for others. and frank is wrath, no doubt about it. but what is he? lust seems like the obvious answer, plus mikey knows how to conceal his “uncontrollable passion and desire”. </p>
<p>over anything, he’d be sent to hell for envy. </p>
<p>he’s seething with envy everywhere he goes. he’s jealous of his dad’s relationship with gerard, gerard’s relationship with frank, frank’s relationship with jamia and alicia. he wants what everybody else has so badly that he doesn’t even appreciate what he’s got. god would smite him without a second glance. </p>
<p>that’s why mikey’s over the moon when gerard asks him to come into the city with him after church. he doesn’t make a big deal of it, just leans over frank and whispers something about how he has an errand to run, and that’s it, but mikey’s trembling with excitement the whole time he waits for service to end, like this is a chance to reconnect with his brother after years of bitterness between them. </p>
<p>his excitement only piques when it’s time to go. they say bye to their dad (who’s going off on his little cinema date), gerard telling him they’ll be back in a couple of hours, and get into gerard’s car. frank doesn’t get in with them. </p>
<p>“he’s not coming?”, mikey asks, watching frank get into the car with his parents while gerard focuses on pulling out into the traffic.<br/>
“frank’s got shit to do”, he says. “and i see him too much as it is, we both do. he’s not my baby brother. you are”.</p>
<p>the ride is pretty boring, but the two of them listening to joy division while the sun burns bright on their pale skin is earily reminiscent of life before it went to shit. mikey thinks about reaching out and just bluntly asking what happened between them, besides the obvious, but that runs the risk of ruining the day trip. instead of adding salt to the wounds, he keeps his mouth shut. </p>
<p>gerard stops to get iced coffee, and gets mikey one too. he sips it graciously, observing how bad gerard is at driving, and how stereotypically gay the whole rigamarole of driving badly while clutching an iced coffee is. </p>
<p>“i just have to run inside and get my wallet, i left it here on friday. it’s lucky grant realised it before anyone else - he’s so smart like that. nothing like the other student teachers, they’d probably take my money without second guessing their morals”, gerard says to mikey as he pulls into a parking lot in the shadow of a vast, brick building. </p>
<p>there are silver letters on the wall that that spell out ‘njcu arts department’. they’re not in the city like gerard said, or like the lettering suggests: they’re far away from the bustle. mikey decides not to nitpick. </p>
<p>“please tell me you’re not fucking a student teacher”, mikey groans. gerard gets out of the car and straightens his jacket up -  they didn’t go home and change out of their church clothes first, which is a blessing and a curse, because they’re far too overdressed for life right now, but at least gerard’s hair doesn’t look like a small animal crawled inside of it and died.<br/>
“i’m not fucking him, mikey! we’re just two consenting adults who like to bond over a mutual love of comic books. he rescued my wallet for me because he’s a decent person”. he leans in and lowers his voice to a whisper. “but i can’t promise i‘m not going to return the favour eventually”. </p>
<p>mikey makes an uncomfortable whining noise and gerard leaves, heading off inside smelling like toothpaste and soap, which he supposes will be a nice surprise for grant. he thinks about frank, and how heartbroken he’d be if he knew gerard was sleeping around. they’re not in a committed relationship by any means, but frank is as loyal as they come: he got kicked out of catholic school for refusing to give the name of the male student he’d been “fraternising with”, or so he told mikey one day at lunch. he’s loyal, alright. and proud, too. his family know he’s unapologetically flexible in his sexuality, which is good because every third word out of frank’s mouth is “gerard”. if the stupid college art student would just grow up and let him, frank would probably hold his hand in public and shout i love you from the rooftops and get down on one knee with a fucking ring. </p>
<p>gerard, on the other hand, isn’t loyal, and he’s far from proud. he likes to pretend he’s just in it for a few high altitude fucks every week. </p>
<p>mikey realises he cant fault gerard’s promiscuity - they have more in common than he likes to imagine. </p>
<p>the older boy makes it back to the car within ten minutes, and mikey doesn’t exactly want to dwell on wether he did or didn’t ‘return the favour’ in the short amount of time, so he purses his lips closed and gives a tight smile. gerard waves his wallet to show he got what he came for, and takes the last few sip of his iced coffee.<br/>
“okay... now i’ve got money, how about we hit up reggie’s store? and then we can get-“.<br/>
“get chilli fries and a cheesesteak from that vendor round the corner”, mikey finished for him like his brain is on autpilot. his eyes are twinkling, and he’s more lively than he has been in weeks. “how come?”.<br/>
“i said we were going to the city, so we’re going to the city”, gerard smiles. “get thinking what you want to add to your collection. maybe if i buy you a new vinyl, you’ll actually unpack your record player”. </p>
<p>he’s being almost too nice, but mikey doesn’t want to pass down the chance of getting free shit, so he does what his brother says and starts making a mental list. he’d kill to hear i’d do anything for love on vinyl, and there’s also that new suede he’s been looking for. something will catch his eye when he gets there. he’s counting on it. </p>
<p>new jersey is nice today. it’s unusually warm, and also quiet - though mikey’s perception of quiet is probably a lot different to gerard’s, who lives in a town where the most exciting part of the day is hearing the church bells ring out. when they stop at a red light, a couple walk past holding hands: one of the girls has messily dyed, jet black mullet and is dressed in low waisted camo pants, and the other has a shaved head and is covered head to toe in chains. no beige in sight. not a single tweed church outfit. mikey smiles at the sight of the lesbians. he’s home. </p>
<p>they get to reggie’s records and the bell on the door chimes in time with them entering. it smells like wood, probably because the records are set up in little wooden boxes, goodwill style. there’s also the overwhelming scent of incense, lemongrass and sandalwood as always. reggie is the bearded old hippie who owns the place, and he’s sat behind the cash register in the far corner, drumming a beat with his fingers. he jumps up off of his stool when he sees the brothers entering, and outstretches his arms. they race over to hug him. </p>
<p>“both the way kids in my store at the same time, my god, i’m finally losing it”, he says, and braces himself for a frantic embrace.<br/>
“reggie!”, gerard beams. “man, you just have the best energy, you know that, right?”.<br/>
“that why you haven’t been to see me for four months?”.<br/>
“hey, i’ve had school”, gerard mumbles apologetically. “and i’m here now. with mikes. focus on that, why don’t you?”.<br/>
“i damn hope that fancy new guitar shop across town has nothing to do with it... well, let me see you, kid”, reggie turns to mikey and takes his head in his hands, gently tilting his face at different angles. if this was anyone else, he’d call it an invasion of privacy, but they’re both used to this. in a totally trippy way, reggie is more of a mother figure to the boys than dear old donna ever has been. “what’s your excuse for not stopping by, city slicker?”.<br/>
“i’m a country bumpkin now, actually”, mikey nods. “i moved in... with my dad, in belleville. mom’s gone again”.<br/>
“again?”, he pushes a strand of his long hair behind his ear. it’s matted and there are little braids running through it that he seems to do subconsciously.<br/>
“mikes, why don’t you go browse?”, gerard gives him a look that says ‘fuck off while we shit talk mom’, which is a look that he knows all too well. </p>
<p>he spends ten or so minutes flicking through the boxes farthest away from the cash register, because he really doesn’t want to hear the kind of shit that’s being said. donna way is not everyone’s cup of tea, and she’s hurt mikey more than anyone else, but he loves his mother more than life. he sees the best in her like it’s his job, which it practically is, because everyone else has already written her off as deadbeat. </p>
<p>he gets cosmic thing by the b-52's, because it’s got love shack on it. one of his more recent memories with his mom is when she snuck him into the club she was working at and they danced to love shack together. they got so into it that the dance floor cleared and made a space for just the two of them, in their own little world full of magic. </p>
<p>course, she did let him make his own way home afterwards while she went off with a guy she’d met there. but hey, nobody’s perfect. mikey likes to pick and choose his memories with her. </p>
<p>gerard raises his eyebrow at mikey’s choice of record but buys it for him as promised, and then goes outside to light a cigarette - reggie used to let people smoke in here, but then realised the amount of wood was a mega fire hazard after the infamous ‘96 incident. </p>
<p>“you tell that mother of yours when she gets back that i want a word with her”, reggie says to mikey, handing him his change. mikey shoves it into his jacket pocket and smiles.<br/>
“will do, reg”.<br/>
“and you know for certain that this is a safe place for everyone. don’t shut me out”, he points to the rainbow flag that is hanging in one of the windows, and then laughs at mikey who’s got an expression as if he’s just seen a ghost. “come on, kid, it’s written all over your face. you’ve got someone new, and ain’t no girl ever made you smile like this before”.<br/>
“reggie, you’ve gotta understand that i can’t just... be open like i am here. not in belleville”.<br/>
“your brother is”, the old man gestures to outside where gerard is stood waiting. “is it gabriel?”.<br/>
“gerard’s in college, he’s not trapped in a stuffy little high school, it’s different”, mikey sighs. “and no, i’m not fucking dating gabe”.<br/>
“when you came in here all those years ago and told me you might be the same way i am... i was over the moon that you trusted me. i can’t tell you everyone in your life is gonna be thrilled - i can’t even tell you your dad will be, because i never was close with him. all i know is you’ve got a brother out there who’s trying his best, and who loves you, and who’s just as queer as the rest of us”.<br/>
“thank you, reg”, mikey whispers, feeling the slight prickle of tears in his eyes. “you and mom, and my friends knowing, that was all too easy, because you guys watched me grow up. i just don’t want dad to hate me... and i really don’t want gee to see me any differently”. </p>
<p>reggie stands up off of his stool again so that he can hug mikey, who’s about two seconds away from bursting into tears. he’s actually happy to untangle himself and head towards the door, turning around to smile and nod at the old hippie who loves him more than most people in this god damn city do. </p>
<p>“what’s his name?”, reggie asks before he leaves, raising his voice so mikey can hear him across the empty store.<br/>
“pete”, the boy says back, nodding. the word feels hot on his tongue. “his name is pete”.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. never been in love before</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"so how's frank?", mikey asks his brother while they sit and eat their food in silence. the weather in the park is nice, and the cheesesteaks are good as always, but they ran out of things to talk about twenty minutes ago. </p>
<p>in a way, they sort of ran out of thing to talk about years ago. frank is one of the only things they seem to have in common anymore. frank, and their dad, and </p>
<p>"he's good, i guess?", gerard looks at him, perplexed. "you see him just as much as i do".<br/>"yeah, but you know him better", mikey admits, tossing a fry to a nearby cluster of pigeons. they dive at it, piling on like it's a game of football. the simile reminds him of pete. he mentally slaps himself for acting so lovesick. gerard nods. <br/>"i guess i do, yeah. you know he's got this saturday job now? not every saturday, nothing permanent, but his uncle has this pizza place that he needed someone to work nights in and frank offered. he's helpful like that". <br/>"not playing any shows soon? i haven't lost my 'corpse hollow virginity' or whatever he calls it yet", mikey states. gerard's laughter follows, and it sounds fond as always. <br/>"you'll love corpse, they're great, but they're in a dry spell right now. i can't wait til they start playing shows again, man", he pulls another cigarette out of his half empty pack, and mikey lights it for him without being told. he doesn't ask for one. gerard doesn't offer. "he's insane, you know? we were lay on my bed the other day, uh... hanging out and stuff", mikey cringes as his brother makes a gesture of the 'stuff' that's close to being obscene, "and he points at the old tripod i have in the corner, for school, and he's like 'we should make a movie', like a fucking sex tape. i swear, he does things before he thinks them through, i love that about him".<br/>"you love him?", mikey catches the last part of the sentence. "maybe you should start treating him like a human being and not just something to fuck, then". </p>
<p>gerard flicks ash onto the concrete and his face hardens, like he's getting defensive as a reflex. he takes another drag, regains some composure and raises an eyebrow at mikey. <br/>"i don't think you have any right to be giving me advice, considering you're just as bad as i am. i heard you talking about your reputation, on the phone to that gir-".<br/>"it wasn't a girl", mikey sighs. </p>
<p>then he realises what he's just said. it's as if the adrenaline from his conversation with reggie has just caught up with him. he's exhilarated, and also shaking. </p>
<p>"a guy. i'm into a guy, right now".<br/>"you're gay?".<br/>"maybe?", mikey cringes. "i might just be bi with a preference, but i didn't wanna tell you either way because you're my brother, man". <br/>"yeah, your gay brother, dumbass", gerard stubs his cigarette out so he can wrap his arms around mikey, pulling him into his chest and kissing the top of his head. "i wouldn't have been mad at you".<br/>"mom wasn't", mikey sounds a little sniffly, like he's fighting off tears. "none of my friends at my old school... frank, alicia and jamia... and pete. pete wasn't. but you were already angry at me, and i just-".</p>
<p>mikey cowards in his brother's warmth for as long as he can, coming to the realisation that this is the same park bench he came out to his mom on when he was fourteen. he bites down on his lip so the waterworks don't start. </p>
<p>"it's going to take me a little time to really trust you, mikes. you ditched me, i was fifteen, and i still haven't gotten over it", gerard says, and mikey's heart momentarily drops. "but love you. i'm your big brother, and you can come to me for anything". <br/>"i love you too, gee", mikey whispers, and suddenly he can't hold it anymore. </p>
<p>it's the rapid blinking, the throat tightening and the voice shaking, and then he's a snivelling mess, tears pouring out of his eyes as he murmurs incoherently about being an awful brother and an even worse son. gerard has to rush him back to the car, where he sits and blubbers some more. </p>
<p>after about fifteen minutes, mikey wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his church jacket, and nods. <br/>"okay, fuck", his words take effort, and come out thick. "i think i'm done".<br/>"how long were you holding that one in?", gerard seems amused. <br/>"i fucking hate boys", mikey ignores his brother, waving his arm around in a vague direction. "him, anyway. with his stupid fucking ability to just waltz into any place and get whatever he wants just because he's got perfect hair and a really sexy smile".</p>
<p>gerard freezes, his head involuntarily jerking forward in curiosity. "who has a what?".<br/>"yeah, exactly", the boy continues mumbling, more to himself than to his brother. "i've never actually liked someone before. how has he made me like him? i hate him". </p>
<p>gerard looks like he wants to ask more questions, but he's smart enough to recognise that mikey's social battery is running painstakingly low. he doesn't even ask who mikey's talking about, just pats his brother's leg and busies himself with starting up the car. </p>
<p>and of course, mikey doesn't hate pete. he doesn't hate anyone. he doesn't have it in him. </p>
<p>the house is empty when they get back, thank god, because mikey's got bloodshot eyes and a red nose. his nose always gets all blotchy when he cries, or when he's cold, or excited - his dad used to call him rudolph. mikey wonders if he remembers. </p>
<p>gerard retreats into the basement like everything's back to normal, which it kind of is. normal-ish. there isn't as much tension in the air anymore. </p>
<p>mikey shoves off his jacket and shoes the second he gets his bedroom door, closing it behind him and going straight to the box he has under his bed. he pulls it out and crouches in front of it, tracing the fading biro letters that spell out "family" with his finger, wondering if the contents inside have faded too. </p>
<p>it's a memory box he made when he was a kid, and he hasn't looked inside of it since his parents split. mikey's not even sure why he'd brought this with him when he packed his things. </p>
<p>a lot of the stuff inside is just movie tickets and receipts from places they went, plus a couple of tattered disney wristbands. out of everything, he's most desperate to salvage a small photo frame from back when everything was right. </p>
<p>it's a picture of him and gerard as young children - mikey can't be any older than six, and he's got a stupid little bowlcut - with their parents, on a camping trip to lake tahoe. <br/>"shit", his voice cracks. "life was so easy, little dude", he whispers to the innocent little picture version of himself, who just smiles back, gormless and happy and totally fucking unaware. </p>
<p>mikey stands up, still holding the picture frame, and goes over to where he keeps his record player. he places the photo right there on the dresser, and then sets aside a couple of minutes to finish setting things up, just as gerard intended, lifting off the dust cover that has been doing its job well these last few weeks. he grabs the record gerard bought for him and plays side one.</p>
<p>about a song in, there's a rustling in the tree by his window. he opens it hastily, knowing it's either a bird or pete fucking wentz. </p>
<p>it's pete. </p>
<p>he comes clambering into the room, and unlike last time, lands on his feet, sticking his arms out as if to say 'voila!'. mikey shakes his head earnestly. <br/>"hi, sweetness", pete chirps. <br/>"hi, pete", mikey replies. it's routine. pete's predictability feels safe. even his unpredictable behaviour, like climbing through the window, is par for the course. mikey sits down on the end of his bed, because he knows pete will sit beside him and slide right into his personal space. he does. <br/>"ah, no, it's peter. i was at church this morning, use my sunday name". <br/>"and you had practice right after, peter?", mikey entertains, looking him up and down: he's got his jersey on, but he's wearing black jeans instead of those god awful football pants that leave nothing to the imagination. although, mikey thinks, the skinny jeans are just as bad. they're not like the big baggy pants that pete wears a lot - they're skin tight, and they frame him well. </p>
<p>naturally, mikey almost goes into cardiac arrest on his bedroom carpet when pete starts undoing his zipper. </p>
<p>"yeah, we didn't use pads and i kinda fucked up my knee", pete sees mikey's face - mouth agape, eyes expectant and curious all at once - and blushes. "oh, shit. i wasn't-".<br/>"you don't have to apologise for stripping off in front of me", mikey grins, because he can't help himself. "come on, qb, let doctor mikey check out the damage". </p>
<p>he helps pete slide his jeans past his thighs, and then there's a mess of kicking off shoes and a lot of stifled giggling, but finally, mikey is faced with the injury. and also the quarterback in nothing but his boxers, but he tries not to focus on the latter. his head will explode if he focuses on the latter. </p>
<p>it's actually not that bad, just a insanely red where there was abrasion, with a hello kitty band aid uselessly stuck over it. pete winces when mikey touches it, so the younger boy leans in and kisses the wound instead. <br/>"magic kiss", he states. "mom used to give them to me all the time". then mikey kisses the boy's lips, and he tastes like strawberries and sour candy. <br/>"was that a magic kiss too?". <br/>"something like that". </p>
<p>the sound from the record player is a little scratchy, because everything mikey's mom owns is fucking ancient, but he still manages to recognise the first few beats of the song he's been waiting for. pete watches his eyes light up, and smirks. <br/>"you wanna dance?", he asks, and mikey looks him up and down. <br/>"with that injury? i don't know if you'll ever walk again, wentz", he shoots back with sarcasm as always, and cracks a smile while he's at it. pete stands up, tugging mikey to his feet, and pulls him close on the bedroom carpet.  </p>
<p>they're doing a half slow dance thing, which is weird because love shack isn't that kind of song you slow dance to, but pete looks absolutely beautiful so mikey doesn't dare stop him. </p>
<p>he really knows how to move to the rhythm of a song, unlike mikey who only knows how to grind. he keeps his hips as still as possible on purpose, because he doesn't want to make a fool of himself. </p>
<p>"mikes", pete tugs at mikey's collar. "i don't wanna be the only one half naked, dude". <br/>"are you making a move, peter?".<br/>"i'm just sayin", pete's cheeks flush red, still hanging onto mikey's shirt. mikey gingerly takes it off, being careful not to tangle it up in his glasses. </p>
<p>he's perfected the art of tasks like that: keeping his glasses safe; unbuckling belts in the dark; unhooking bras in record time... it comes about as naturally to him as breathing. </p>
<p>this is different. </p>
<p>"so, you're maybe the only person who's asked me to take my shirt of for something other than sex", mikey states lamely, still aimlessly rocking his hips. <br/>"you do know i want to have sex with you, right?", pete grins, kissing the crease of the taller boy's shoulder. "like, all the time. i just like, wanna get to know you". <br/>"that's a first", mikey strokes the back of pete's head, voice no more than a whisper now. "you're the best, peter". </p>
<p>"and you're the same", pete whispers to drown out his heart beating obnoxiously loud, slowing down the swaying so that they're both just stood there. "you even smell the same, a little bit. like my first boyfriend", he mumbles into pete's neck,<br/>"you've had a boyfriend? i was under the impression you were a total nun". <br/>"sort of. my first and last", pete blinks up at mikey, his eyes wide as saucers, and traces a finger over mikey's collar bone. "we were thirteen, he was my devastatingly straight friend and i was closeted and in love. he died before i could tell him". <br/>"shit", mikey shivers under pete's gentle touch. <br/>"it's alright. he was my first kiss. he was just using me to practice how to kiss his girlfriend, but i really loved him".</p>
<p>mikey doesn't know what to say, so he cradles pete into his chest and kisses the top of his head. pete thinks for a second - just for a second - that he could plan the rest of his life around the sheer infatuation that he feels in this moment.</p>
<p>and simultaneously,for the first time in his life, mikey is wondering what it'd be like to be somebodies boyfriend.</p>
<p>he tries to explain to pete he wants to have a go at something other than just hooking up - a relationship, one where they get engaged right after graduation and go to college in new york, and live in an apartment together struggling to make ends meat but being totally content with their lives because they have each other, and they wake up next to each other, and they know they're gonna stay like that forever. </p>
<p>it doesn't come out as articulated. </p>
<p>"i've never been in love", he says. pete smiles at him. <br/>"i have. twice. but maybe third time's gonna be the charm, right?".<br/>"right", mikey agrees without even comprehending. "wait...".</p>
<p>he doesn't take it back, though. being loved by someone wouldn't be the most awful thing in the world. </p>
<p>plus, he thinks he can probably fall in love with pete, if he tries hard enough.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. sugar me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw // (very) slight discussions of nsfw</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>mikey is usually intimidated by the pristine state of pete's car, so entering his house is completely nerve-racking. it's big, for starters, made up of brick and dark wood siding, and pete parks his car on the street even though there's a huge two-car garage right in the front. it looks like it should be placed at the edge of a lake in a woodland clearing somewhere, not just slap bang in the middle of the suburbs. </p>
<p>it's neat inside, too, and pete takes his shoes off in the foyer, prompting mikey to do the same. <br/>"you'll be fine, my mom's pretty much in love with you, but she works from home most days so she won't even have time to interrogate you", he smirks, putting both pairs of shoes into a closet off to the left. <br/>"you talk about me with your mom?", mikey stands there awkwardly in his socks, holding his school bag. pete takes that from him too, places it by the door, and replaces it with his own hand. <br/>"of course i talk about you, sweetness. she thinks you're super cool because i told her you're from the city, and you wear glasses most of the time which makes you totally fucking trustworthy or whatever", he squeezes the boy's fingers between his own. "you're my mikeyway. you're my best friend". </p>
<p>pete punctuates his sentence with a dozen little kisses to mikey's face, standing on his tiptoes just to reach. mikey grins earnestly and lightly pushes him away. <br/>"alright, alright", he says, but he secretly loves it when pete gets all gushy and excitable. he’s like a puppy. </p>
<p>'best friend' rings in his ears as he follows pete into the kitchen: they haven't exactly discussed the details of what they are. they're definitely not boyfriends, and mikey won't dare say he's in love, but not many best friends get butterflies in the pits of their stomachs every time they see each other. best friends who kiss. he feels they'd probably be better off as lovers.  </p>
<p>they're just them, for now. they're sweet. pete thinks mikey way is sweetness, and mikey thinks pete is the closet thing he'll ever get to feeling at home. </p>
<p>the kitchen has a skylight, marble countertops and a huge island which two kids, one boy and one girl, are working at. the younger one, the boy, turns around and spots pete, jumping off of his stool to charge at him. for some reason, mikey steps back as a reflex, like he thinks an eleven year old boy running in his general direction is going to cause serious damage. pete doesn't flinch, but instead opens his arms wide and spins his sibling around.</p>
<p>"you're home!", the young boy coos, voice more jersey than pete's is, like he's not as nostalgic for chicago as his older brother. "can you help me with my homework now?".<br/>"sorry, shortass, i'm hanging out with mikeyway today. mikey, this is andrew". </p>
<p>that's mikey's cue to give a sheepish wave. he's pretty sure he could count the times he's been nervous on one hand, and he doesn't know why he's so panicky just because he's in pete's house. it's maybe characterised by the fact that this is as close as mikey's ever been to "meeting the parents", unless you count gabe's parents, which he doesn't. or that awful incident involving an unlocked door and kristin's mom. or frank's family, but again, the line is kind of blurry. </p>
<p>the kid shrugs, like he's got nothing to say about the stranger's presence in his home, and mikey thinks about how blissfully simplistic it must be to be his age. </p>
<p>"you gonna say hi, hillary?".<br/>"hi", the girl's response is monosyllabic, but not at all dismissive or irritated.<br/>"can i at least show you the bottle rocket i made?", andrew tugs at the sleeve of pete's letterman, yearning for his attention. like magic, pete manages to divert his brother's attention back to his homework, like he's done this a million times before. </p>
<p>"where's mom?".<br/>"office", the girl, hillary, says. she's older and has the same bronzed skin, but bushels and bushels of light brown curls that are tied high up with a tartan ribbon. she's focusing hard on what she's writing, tongue sticking out to the side slightly just like pete's does when he concentrates.<br/>"must you be so hostile?", pete hisses, and she glares at him. mikey also shoots him a look, but it's not a glare. it screams 'get me out of here', so pete does, interlocking their fingers once again and dragging him through the kitchen and down another little hallway. </p>
<p>they erupt in stifled laughter the second they think they're out of earshot. </p>
<p>"why am i terrified of a thirteen year old girl".<br/>"she's a sweetheart, she's just pissed off all the time because that's the whole point of being an eighth grader", pete sniggers. "and drew is just a little lovebug. he's clingy". <br/>"drew is cute, he was really happy to see you. you must be a good brother", mikey tilts the boy's chin upwards, and gently kisses his parted lips. pete makes a low groaning nose, almost like a purr, and his face becomes soft and satisfied. <br/>"my mom's in her office", he breaks them apart, though it looks like it takes him all his willpower to put an end to the touching and the kisses and the closeness.<br/>"i know", mikey breathes out. "your sister said".</p>
<p>she's sat at her desk when pete knocks on the door and slides it open. she's got large bambi eyes that twinkle when she realises who the frail, nerdy looking white boy standing next to her son is.</p>
<p>"michael!", her voice is hushed, and there's a phone tucked into the crook of her neck. "oh, it's so nice to meet you. gosh, you're so handsome". <br/>"oh, uh, thanks", mikey stammers out. "i love your house".<br/>"it's like a maze, isn't it?”, she smiles, knowingly. "we rent it. the polish couple who own it, they designed it themselves and the husband built it. then he got a job out in dubai so we swooped in and grabbed the place". <br/>"who are you on hold to?", pete asks, grabbing a mint out of a little bowl that’s placed purposefully by the door. his mother grimaces and rolls her eyes. <br/>"as if being a corporate paralegal wasn't already thrilling enough, i'm trying to hunt down some wrongfully logged board minutes", she says. mikey watches her in her pantsuit, listens to her tossing around corporate jargon, and all he feels is intense jealousy, teetering on confusion. there are times where his mom barely holds down the same job for a week, and even then it's just singing in bars or waiting tables at steakhouses. "hillary wasn't too territorial, was she?". <br/>"no, ma'am", mikey lies.<br/>"he's polite, isn't he?", pete teases, beaming at mikey. mikey with the tacky nose ring, and the floppy hair, and the stupidly fucking sharp jawline. "we're going downstairs, i'll come help with dinner later". <br/>"well, it was a pleasure meeting the mikey way. i'm sorry i can't talk more", she smiles unnaturally wide, and yet it still seems genuine. there's nothing but love radiating off of her, even in her busy state. "door open if you're in your room, please". <br/>"bye, mom", he cuts her off, shoving mikey out of the room as quickly as he shoved him in. there's a blush across his face in a furious shade of red. </p>
<p>mikey goes to laugh, but pete presses a finger up against the taller boy's lips. <br/>"don't humiliate me even further, i beg", he whispers. "come on. downstairs".</p>
<p>mikey walks behind him down a flight of stairs that lead to a small basement. it's completely carpeted with a hideous green sofa and two bean bags in the middle of the room, facing a television coated with dust. there's two amplifiers, two bass guitars, an acoustic and a keyboard crowded against one wall, and two doors on the opposite one. one of them is cracked open to reveal a half bathroom. mikey assumes the other is pete's bedroom, pete's bedroom door that is closed now but has to stay open when he has a guy over. </p>
<p>"you're out to your parents, then?", mikey puts two and two together, and pete shrugs off his jacket and throws it over the back of the couch as mikey cautiously continues. "i'm just assuming, because... the door thing". <br/>"you know the game i gave you a ride home from?", pete asks, and mikey nods. "they missed that because of work, both of them, and they've never done that before. never. they felt so terrible and i knew it wasn't their fault but i got kind of"... he waves his hands around like he's looking for the words. "low. and manic? for a few days. it happens sometimes. i don't even remember telling them, but i did, and i guess they're cool with it".</p>
<p>mikey doesn't know what to say, so he kisses pete hard. he's all too conscious of how fraught the whole 'coming out' and 'being proud' thing can be. </p>
<p>"you're so brave, peter", he says. "i'm so glad i found you. you're just... you're different to most people in this town". <br/>"i'm not. i'm manic without meds, and boring with them. i'm crazy", pete laughs, self deprecating. <br/>"no, pete. you're real".</p>
<p>pete's face softens as he looks up at mikey. his eyes glisten, and blink rapidly, and his pupils are round as saucers. </p>
<p>when he kisses him, stretching on his tiptoes to reach, they fit together perfectly and melt into it, like the two final pieces of the same jigsaw puzzle. pete's got his knee tucked ever so slightly between mikey's legs, and mikey's brain is working a million miles per hour trying to decode wether he put it there on purpose. </p>
<p>pete's a virgin. he wouldn't even know how to tease like this, would he? though his lips now moving down to mikeys neck and sucking lightly at the skin are all signs that he's totally in control. </p>
<p>"pete", mikey whispers, conscious that someone upstairs is going to miraculously develop hypersensitive hearing. "fuck, i've been waiting for this". <br/>"mikes-". </p>
<p>the taller boy fumbles at pete's belt, effortlessly getting it undone. there's nothing stopping him from getting what he wants now, but as he looks down, he sees a mixture of nerves, apprehension and fear in pete's eyes. </p>
<p>he stops him momentarily and cups his face in his hands. <br/>"come on, baby", mikey gently pushes his hips so that they fall back against the sofa cushions. his voice is deep, and hushed. it's a complete and utter charade, and it's almost too perfected. </p>
<p>"mikey, i'm not sure about this", pete says, dodging his kiss. mikey looks around. <br/>"it's fine, it's- shit", his glasses almost slide off of his face. he hates them for this exact reason, but he didn't have time to go through the torturous ritual of putting his contacts in this morning. he doesn’t most mornings. “no one's coming". <br/>"well, drew might. or my dad might come home and wanna see me. and i-". </p>
<p>he's cut off by mikey shushing him, and settling back into another feverish kiss, with tongue, as if it wasn't obvious how desperate he is. all he can think about is how close he is to getting what he wants. no, what he needs. mikey needs this like he needs oxygen. </p>
<p>pete wriggles around and shifts their weight so that he's on top, and just as mikey manages to haphazardly get the zipper of his jeans down, thinking that’s where this position was taking him, disaster strikes.</p>
<p>so, okay, maybe there's still one thing stopping him. </p>
<p>pete moves to sit on the opposite side of the couch, putting an end to all previous activity. he pulls his knees into his chest and wraps his arms around them, compressing himself down into a little ball. </p>
<p>"what-", mikey is hot and semi-dazed as he sits up and faces pete, who's eyes are welling up with tears. "pete?".<br/>"i think you...", pete's voice wavers and comes out muffled. he's sucks his thumb into his mouth for comfort. "you need to leave". <br/>"but we were gonna-".<br/>"gonna what, mikey?", he hisses. "i was gonna show you some of the songs i've written, and invite you to stay for dinner, and tell you that i like you more than i can even comprehend. but what were you gonna do? huh? turn on your stupid, fake charm to try and have sex with me so that you can toss me away like you do to everyone else". </p>
<p>when mikey leans in to comfort him, pete abruptly turns and gives him the cold shoulder. it's jarring, and the basement suddenly seems bigger, like there's a million miles between them. </p>
<p>"why would you even think that?".<br/>"i asked around. learnt a little more about your rep in the city, and also learnt that you've been a real world class asshole to everyone you've ever dated". <br/>"we're not... we're not even dating", mikey squeaks out, dumbfounded. "i just- fuck, pete. i thought you wanted me to have sex with you. i thought that's what we're doing. you told me! you told me you think about it all the time, and  you kissed my neck-". <br/>"and you really thought that meant i want to lose my virginity on a couch at four in the afternoon?", pete's sadness is quickly turning to anger: his fist is clenched and he's physically trembling with agitation. "i think you're a stupid fucking slut who isn't capable of feeling basic human emotion". </p>
<p>time slows down. everything is moving in slow motion, and mikey is on the verge of bursting into floods of tears. </p>
<p>he doesn't want to explode back, because he knows he can still salvage whatever's left of the discussion if he calms pete down and apologises for being pushy. there's a voice of reason in his head telling him 'that's all you have to do'. </p>
<p>he's never been one for logic. </p>
<p>"nice, thank you", he laughs insincerely, standing up to straighten out his clothes. he looks pete directly in the eyes, and nods. "i might be a whore, pete, but at least i'm not an insecure little virgin with no life and multiple fucking personalities". </p>
<p>he leaves immediately after that, storming upstairs to grab his shoes and bag, and it's not until he's at the front door that he hesitates, hand lingering over the handle. </p>
<p>"fuck", he thinks to himself. "fuck, you're so fucking mikey". and then he leaves before anyone notices, walking away from the destruction he's created without a second thought.</p>
<p>his mom would probably be proud. that’s not as comforting as it should be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. the fun flask</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw // alcohol, mention of drugs</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>on friday night, mikey should feel far more alive than he does. he's leaning against the stage of a bar named crossroads out in garwood with jamia, who's swigging something strong from a flask and wearing the tiniest skirt he's ever seen in his life. she's talking excitedly talking about how she can't wait for mikey to hear corpse hollow, and how happy she is that frank finally got a gig, but mikey's only half listening. he's not very bubbly tonight, tuned out, watching strangers file into the venue while he waits for his phone to light up.</p>
<p>pete's been awol for three days. jamia said he didn't even turn up to class, but she also told mikey that he's disappeared like this before. <br/>"he always comes back, give him some space, baby", she had said in the car on the way out. "just have fun tonight". </p>
<p>he's having the opposite of fun right now, and it shows. he just keeps focus on the room, recognising a couple of kids from school. there's a group of girls he knew from back in the city too. not anyone he was ever close with, and he doubts he'd even recognise them if it weren't for the teased hair and atrocious tans. hard to miss. he doesn't bother going over. </p>
<p>it feels perverse to mix city and suburb. that life is pretty much a world away. </p>
<p>when the room is almost full to capacity, the band come out on stage to set up. frank heads straight over to the front of the stage holding a beer, and leans in for hugs. his guitar is slung over his back, and the black strap has been messily hand painted with red flames.</p>
<p>"you look good", mikey nods, tracing his finger over one of the flames. <br/>"thanks, mikeyway. who's ready to rock?", he asks, overly electrified. <br/>"we speaking strictly cliche talk tonight?", jamia smirks. <br/>"now, now", frank shakes his head, putting a finger up to her lips. "there's my favourite girl". </p>
<p>whatever the two of them are talking about becomes incoherent chatter that mikey quickly tunes out of, desperately clinging to his phone.  there are sirens blaring in his brain that haven't left since he walked out of pete's front door. he's never been one for forgiving and forgetting, but this is different. all he wants is to know it isn't over. pete, this crush on pete... whatever it is they have... it's something mikey can't kick. maybe he doesn't want to. and maybe that's selfish, or co-dependant, but he's pretty much one of the only things that's good in life, and if be can't have him back the way they were, he at least wants him as a best friend. </p>
<p>when jamia points at him all dramatic and says, "we'll be ready to rock as soon as hot stuff puts down his cell", he gets brought back to planet earth for a second. <br/>"aw, jamia, you think i'm hot?", he flashes a fake smile, and puts his arm around her shoulder. "look, guys, i'm happy to be here. i'm fine". <br/>"you are now", frank snatches the phone right out of mikey's hands, and mikey has unfortunately not been born with the blessing of cat-like reflexes. before he can even open his mouth to threaten frank's life, the shorter boy is already walking away to take his place. "you can have it back when you've had a good fucking time!", frank shouts, almost too far upstage to hear now. </p>
<p>he's just not in the mood, but that isn't a good enough answer for frank. or for jamia, who more or less dragged him out of bed by his ankles today so that he could stop being volatile at home, and come out to be volatile with an audience instead. </p>
<p>nobody batted an eye when alicia said she didn’t want to come, but mikey doesn't even bother bringing her into this. she's flaky and unpredictable and he expected nothing less. </p>
<p>corpse hollow are good, though - really fucking good when they get into the swing of things - and the way frank throws himself around the small stage with vigour and vivacity, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he focuses on his guitar strings, is nothing short of pornographic. mikey and jamia give supportive hollers from the ground and he swigs from her flask, which turns out to be whiskey. it burns. it's good. </p>
<p>"you bored yet?", jamia teases as mikey pulls a face, shoving his hair behind his ears so that she can see him. she babies him like that a lot, but it's actually exactly what he needs most of the time. <br/>"never", mikey manages to twirl her in a circle, but they're pretty much flush together with everyone else in the bar now, so he settles behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. <br/>"you sad?", she says, quieter, but still loud enough for mikey to hear. he gives a reluctant nod. </p>
<p>jamia probably knows best when she tells him that the best remedy for sadness is to cut loose: she stops bobbing her head and starts bouncing, subtly enough at first for her feet to not even be leaving the ground, but as she gets more enthusiastic, she gets more hyped, and mikey finds it harder to resist. all of a sudden, they're bouncing up and down as fast and high as they can, screaming along to a misfits cover that corpse are making their own.</p>
<p>this is the most innocently he's ever danced with someone at a show, and it's refreshing at first to not have to worry about swaying his hips and batting his eyes just the right way. he's just having fun, thinking maybe he's over the whole shameless hookup cliche. thinking maybe he's over it because he cares so much about pete. </p>
<p>pete. </p>
<p>pete, pete, pete. </p>
<p>more whiskey. he drinks more whiskey to forget about his problems, oblivious to how much he's becoming like his mother: additive personality, alcohol dependent, hyper-sexual, and overall just incapable of love. conventional love, anyway. </p>
<p>fuck it. city mikey is back. the mikey who loves one thing - having a good time, no matter what. he’s tried belleville, and it just doesn’t work for him. </p>
<p>he closes his eyes tight and feels the room start to spin, his sadness turning to rage with every sip. rage and confusion and confidence. and restlessness. and every other stomach-churning, head-discombobulating emotion. </p>
<p>at the start of the night, he was telling himself not to panic or get worked up, but now all he wants to do is forget pete. fuck him. fuck everything. he takes another sip of whiskey, feeling it soothing him, smooth and rich and doing a fantastic fucking job at taking the edge off.</p>
<p>they're bouncing until mikey can barely catch his breath, wiping sweat off of his face every few seconds. frank screams something obscene into the mic and his bandmate tells them all to take 10, and then they disappear backstage. </p>
<p>except for frank, who makes his way to the front of the stage and sits down, panting like a dog. </p>
<p>"i need nicotine. right the fuck now", he tells them, his breathing laboured and his face dripping with sweat. he gestures to the back of the venue, where the door is. "coming?".<br/>"peeing. peeing and getting water", jamia shakes her head and kisses him on the cheek, staggering off to find the bathrooms. </p>
<p>mikey follows frank outdoors and grins with contentment as the cold air hits him like a wall, pulling his lighter from his pocket as the shorter boy humbly accepts a compliment from a couple of girls who are also smoking nearby. </p>
<p>frank takes two cigarettes out and mikey lights them both. <br/>"one for me, one for you". <br/>"you guys are wasted", frank states. when mikey looks up, he's smirking. jamia can barely stand up, but mikey feels like he's got himself under control. <br/>"i’m tipsy. she's worse", he voices his opinion and talks with his hands as he does it, so animated that he almost sets fire to his hair. "it's just good. it's just really good. the music and the dancing". </p>
<p>frank hops up onto the wall they're leaning against, still sort of getting his breath back from the first half of his set. he forgets to inhale when he smokes this time, because a thought springs to mind. <br/>"didn't you drive here?", he splutters and clears his throat. <br/>"oh. fuck it", mikey slumps down beside him. he can hear himself sounding like a broken record, but can't turn off the careless attitude that the flask of glen mckenna has blessed him with. "alicia's picking jamia up or whatever. i'll ride with them. or with you and the band. i'll be a groupie". <br/>"and leave gerard's car out in buttfuck nowhere? oh yeah, he'll love that. screw the band, i'll drive your car back to my place, okay?", frank says, and then looks around warily. he pulls a tiny bag of weed from his jacket pocket and taps his nose. "you can help me smoke this later if you promise to lay off the fun flask". <br/>"dealio", mikey finds that to be a fair deal, taking a final few desperate drags of his cigarette. </p>
<p>it's best he stays at frank's tonight, anyway. his dad has been so relaxed about mikey breaking house rules while he waits for him to settle in, but mikey knows in the back of his very foggy mind that walking through the front door smelling like sweat and cigarettes and weed would probably be the final straw. </p>
<p>"your brother's a real ass, by the way. you know that, right?", frank let's mikey know. mikey gives a sympathetic smile, stunning his cigarette out on the wall.<br/>“he’s okay”. <br/>“he said he'd try and stop by tonight. dick". <br/>"he’s up at ray's til monday working on their video for school, man", mikey shakes his head for no reason other than to emphasise how pathetic he's finding frank right now. "you're letting a guy who wears dresses and goes to art school make you feel bad". </p>
<p>and technically, mikey isn't lying. he'd almost convinced himself that his contacts were playing tricks on him when gerard had come downstairs dressed in a skirt this morning - and no, it's not like it was anything as promiscuous as the leather miniskirt that frank's got his heart set on, but it was still unexpected. kind of. </p>
<p>"it was sort of long. like, floaty", mikey grimaces at the thought. "so get your head out of the gutter". <br/>"oh, i expected nothing less than dramatic from our gee", frank stubs out his cigarette on the wet concrete, staring at the remnant for a second. he's spacey. he's deep in thought. </p>
<p>"i bet you'd look good too", he says, eventually. <br/>"what?". <br/>"in a little tennis skirt", he practically snorts, snaking a hand onto mikey's thigh. "show off those pretty little legs".</p>
<p>mikey gives him a look that's halfway between confusion and intrigue and then jumps off the wall, extending a hand out to help frank down.<br/>"you're a dumbass. a huge dumbass", he says. frank bursts out laughing and takes his hand, squeezing it. <br/>"made you laugh, though, didn't i?".</p>
<p>and he's right. mikey's completely changed his tone, cackling with laughter as they run back inside the bar and make sure jamia hasn't choked on her own puke. </p>
<p>mikey's happy. </p>
<p>and he isn't even thinking about pete.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. power, pleasure, pain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw // alcohol, drug use, sex</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>nope, he's not thinking about pete at all. and evidently, pete isn't thinking about him either. </p><p>theres a grand total of 0 missed calls and texts on mikey's phone, even now, an hour after frank finally gave it back - if you're not counting one from his dad that just says "ok. c u tmo &amp; enjoy the sleepover :)". </p><p>mikey's been spaced out, staring up at the ceiling in frank's room while the other boy makes a very slow venture to the bathroom. </p><p>it's dark, bar the dim robot lamp over on the dresser, and whatever the moon is doing for them. not a lot. he can barely see his hand when he sticks it out in front of him - the free hand. the hand that isn't holding the joint. he's kind of high, like, really high, and it's kind of magical. he swears if he takes another hit, he's  not going to be able to stand up. </p><p>frank's not any better, crashing back into the bedroom with his fly undone. he knocks over one of his guitars that are propped up by the wall, and the two of them spend the next two minutes in hysterics over it. </p><p>"you still wallowing in self pity?", he wheezes, zipping his jeans back up. mikey grabs the nearest pillow and throws it in his direction, missing by a lot because he's horizontal, and pretty out of it.<br/>
"not anymore". mikey stares frank down. "i can see my own aura. it’s purple".<br/>
“cute”, frank fires back blankly. </p><p>they've barricaded the door with blankets so that that frank's poor parents don't wake up to the smell of weed. once he's kicked them back into position, frank moves to come and straddle mikey, settling back down comfortably on the boys hips. </p><p>they pass the joint between them in silence a couple of times, and occasionally one of them lets out a stifled giggle. </p><p>"dude", mikey talks suddenly, like there's been any conversation leading up to this. "what fucking strain is this? sativa? it's fucking insane".<br/>
"that and indica, it's hybrid. like, a bit of both. you never smoked hybrid before?". <br/>
"i pretty much never roll my own shit. i'm too hot for that. i just smoke what i get given", mikey half jokes. he knows how to roll, but he's only had to do it himself a handful of times in his life. gabe taught him, when they first started sneaking into bars together, that nothing reeks 'pretty boy privilege' more than never rolling your own joint. it's biased advice with no reliable source, but it's stuck with mikey the last couple of years. </p><p>frank rolls his eyes. </p><p>mikey doesn't actually see it, because he's lay flat on his back and can't drag his focus away from the glow in the dark star stickers on frank's ceiling, but he feels the eye roll. </p><p>"well, asshole, whatever this shit is, it's good.  better than i thought suburb pot would be".<br/>
"oh, i can find good weed anywhere, mikes. it's my superpower". </p><p>he isn’t lying. when frank’s parents took him on vacation to the south of france three years ago, he’d managed to find a dealer even though he was fifteen and they were staying in the middle of a vineyard. the weed itself had either been really shitty, or laced with something shitty, because it barely had any effect, but the thought was still there. </p><p>“shitty superhero”, mikey smirks, the repeats what he’s been saying. “good shit, though”. </p><p>this was definitely the next best option after they had both sobered up during the second half of the show. mikey had needed it quick, too: the release; the bliss of not remembering why he's even mad; the comfortable numbness. </p><p>addictive personality. </p><p>he's not an addict, though. he just has the potential to be one. it's times like this where he really feels close to mommy dearest. </p><p>"pete still not called?", frank asks. he's just making small talk, but it almost completely ruins mikey's high.<br/>
"he's probably sleeping, i don't know. i don't wanna talk about him, not anymore. i royally fucked that up", mikey whispers, taking a hit. </p><p>he can't even bring himself to say pete's name. he can still hear the anger in the boy's voice and see the hurt on his face, and there's nothing more he wants than to not think about him, or to come to the realisation that it's probably over. whatever they had. </p><p>"can we not talk about it?", he shakes his head like he's an etch-a-sketch. "not til we're sober, at least?".<br/>
"alright then, forget it", frank grabs the joint back out of mikey's hand and takes a hit, cockily blowing it back into the other boy's face. "any other subject, then".<br/>
"anything else".<br/>
"got you", frank says, promising to stop talking about feelings. "i'm so fucking hungry". </p><p>he doesn't make an effort to climb off of mikey and go find food. they just carry on sitting there together for what feels like forever, with their weed and their nonsensical rambling and their giggly laughter. he doesn't say it, because he keeps forgetting how to talk out loud, but mikey feels at home right now. he's not sure if that's comforting or not. </p><p>it must be about two in the morning, maybe more, when they've finished smoking but are still completely intoxicated. frank keeps giggling at everything, which isn't that far off of what he's like sober, but mikey is more spacey and relaxed - they're both very clingy, though, and horny. super horny. it's kind of embarrassing how touch starved mikey feels right now. </p><p>neither of them say anything about it for a while, but from where frank is sat - right on mikey's hips - it's hard to ignore the rock hard issue that's starting to grow. </p><p>"mikes, you've got stoner boner", frank whispers, wheezing like it's the best thing he's ever said.<br/>
"first off, fuck you", mikey weakly slaps at him, but frank grabs his arms and manages to pin them above his head, holding him down.<br/>
"is that what you want?", he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it. it's not a seductive thing, more of an awkward tic he has, but mikey feels his stupid little stomach tie itself in a knot.<br/>
"huh?".<br/>
"to fuck me... or i could like-", he looks around as if someone's stood on the other side of the door, listening in. "i could fuck you. you're my best friend. we could".</p><p>mikey doesn't even spend that long processing the offer, because his body is acting on behalf of his brain. he frees himself from frank's grip and reaches down to unzip his jeans, nodding.<br/>
"fuck it. yeah. please, yeah", he sounds urgent. "i feel like i'm about to explode".<br/>
"gross", frank laughs. "it's fine, i've got you". </p><p>he kisses him on the cheek and immediately moves south for something more x-rated, helping mikey undress. there's about a million guilt-induced questions racing around in both of their heads, but they realise that they're way past rationality when frank kisses mikey's inner thigh and solicits a breathy gasp. </p><p>the drugs in their system are making them hypersensitive, and everything mikey can feel is magnified by ten under frank's heat. it's sexy and irritating at the same time, and is making his head spin worse than any amount of alcohol ever could. </p><p>the way he's teasing reminds mikey of the dreams he has about pete - the ones about making him feel so good that he cries, or vice versa. in fact, his brain is a convoluted mess, blasting the name "pete, pete, pete" in bold as if that's the sort of thing he wants to think about right now. </p><p>he shakes his head. it's the weed. </p><p>this is all happening because of the weed. </p><p>all thoughts, good and bad, come to an abrupt ending when frank finally sucks mikey into his mouth, and mikey makes the neediest noise he's ever made. it's happening. this is really happening. </p><p>he can feel the guilt bubbling in the pit of his stomach, but has no intention of stopping frank licking and sucking and doing whatever the fuck he's got in mind, because mikey needs this. he needs it like humans needs oxygen, and he doesn't care where he gets it from. </p><p>there's a couple of seconds where he swears he hears his phone buzz, but he shoves it to the back of his mind, clenches a fist into frank's hair, and gets ready to see stars.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. sway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>the cathartic feeling that washes over you after you've had sex - when you just feel tingly and over sensitive and totally relaxed - it's something mikey relies on. he's never as calm as he is after what he calls 'thrill seeking', but apparently that's all in the past. </p><p>he feels the opposite of cathartic, sat up in frank's bed, wearing frank's hoodie, squinting at the sunlight that has started to creep through the window. he doesn't know what time it is, and can't even pinpoint exactly when he'd fallen to sleep. he just remembers the weed, and frank's mouth around him, and how he grabbed frank by the hair and took out all his anger on him. </p><p>and frank had liked it, too, loud and dirty like they were two strangers in a nightclub bathroom and not just best friends substituting therapy for sex. </p><p>mikey feels more guilty than he ever has in his whole life. it's red hot in the pit of his stomach, almost acidic, like he's going to rip apart at the seams any second. </p><p>"hi, sleepyhead, frank comes back into the room, passing mikey a cup of coffee - black, one sugar, just the way he likes it. mikey sips at it gratefully, and blinks a couple of times as mikey tries to fix his vision. <br/>
"fuck, i was wearing my contacts yesterday. where did i put them?".<br/>
"oh, you put them in the bathroom", frank fumbles around in his pocket before he sits down, producing mikeys glasses. "but these were in the car".  </p><p>and okay, fine, maybe frank is just a considerate person, but mikey knows deep down these gestures are just all in the hopes that they won't have to talk.</p><p>"so", frank drums his fingers on his thighs, nervously taking a sip from his water bottle. he can't have coffee, because he's in a constant jittery state as it is.<br/>
"so...", mikey shoves his glasses onto his face, and can suddenly see how red in the face frank is becoming. "i fucked you".<br/>
"you fucked me", frank nods, sitting on his knees so that he can roll down the hip of his sweatpants, showing mikey his pelvic bone. there's little animalistic bites all over him, and a bruise on his hip where mikey assumes he gripped too tightly. he looks fucking savaged, and mikey has the right mind to be embarrassed. </p><p>"i... jesus christ", he laughs, putting his coffee on the side and taking a closer look. "sorry, i guess i just had a lot of stuff to get out of my system".<br/>
"i can tell you don't top much, you really aren't the most graceful person to bone", frank laughs awkwardly, and then gives mikey a genuine smiles. "it's alright. i liked it. made me feel wanted".<br/>
"does he..." mikey shudders at the thought of mentioning his brother right now, during this, but he knows he has to. "does gerard not make you feel like that?". </p><p>frank folds his scrawny legs up into his chest and wraps his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees. he looks bashful for the first time ever. </p><p>"i think he loves me a lot, and i think that it scares him. he tells me he likes me, but that we're just casual, and it works for us", frank says. "it works for him, anyway. he can sleep around, and in theory so can i - but when he... has his way with me... i can tell his mind isn't all in it. i can't stand the idea that he's giving someone else the attention that he's meant to be giving me". he rubs his eyes quickly before any stray tears can escape, and takes a laboured breath. "what about you?".<br/>
"i love you, frankie", mikey nods. he considers telling frank about his initial misconstrued crush on him, but thinks that'd probably send the wrong message. instead, he chews down on his lip and tries his best to maintain eye contact. "i love you so much for this, but you're in love with gerard".<br/>
"and you're in love with pete", frank smiles,  and mikey smiles back when he realises he can't deny it. </p><p>the mood becomes less somber as the pair sit across from each other in bed and just grin. mikey won't say he's in love, but thinking it about it won’t hurt. he's only human, no matter how many layers of pent up anger or upset or hypersexuality he hides it behind. </p><p>"i love you so much, man", frank suddenly dives at mikey, kissing him on the cheek. it should be weird, but it just reconsolidates the fact that nothing could ever change them, and brings mikey the comfort that he desperately needs right now.<br/>
"pete's amazing, isn't he?", mikey blinks. "he's like, the most genuine person in this entire town, and if we got to know each other properly i feel like we could fall in love. that's really fucking weird, dude, because i've never been in love. not once. i don't even love myself". </p><p>the shockingly candid moment slips from his lips like he just can't help it, and as soon as he says it there's a sharp twang in his chest. </p><p>if he can help it, he never thinks about how unhappy he is with himself. when he was living back home in the city, he'd open his window as wide as possible and drag his comforter out onto the fire escape, to listen to the sounds of the people below him. there'd always be something going on, whether that be a group of drunk girls stumbling back to their house, or a couple walking hand in hand, or cars getting lost on the backroads. mikey could sit there for hours, with some coffee and an occasional cigarette, listening to the shouts and the sirens, and get lost in the indulgent idea that people all around him are living their own fantastic, illusive, private lives. their own adventures. it's calming to know that he's not the epicentre of everyone's universe. </p><p>here, there's nothing. white fences, green lawns, the occasional person going on a late night jog. he's with his dad and brother, and frank is never far away, but he's never felt this alone. not unless pete's there, sneaking through his window, kissing him in his room, dancing on the carpet like old timey lovers. </p><p>he can't feel alone knowing pete is out there. he wants that feeling forever, for the rest of his life if he can have it. </p><p>"i fucked up", mikey bites his thumb, mind wandering. "shit. shit, frank". </p><p>frank offers to make him breakfast, but mikey can't even imagine how anxious he'd be if he waited any longer to leave, putting his clothes from the night before back on, and grabbing his things as quickly as possible. frank helps him, grinning because he's being included in the turning point of mikey's love life and it "feels like such a movie moment".</p><p>mikey shakes his head, and cups the boys face in his hands.<br/>
"you're not mad i'm leaving?".<br/>
"there's nothing for you here. except for eggs. but my eggs are always gonna be here".<br/>
"that a euphemism?", mikey grins.<br/>
"shut up, mikes. go and get your guy". </p><p>so mikey does. he waves frank a frantic goodbye and runs to where he parked the car, taking off in the direction of pete's house as soon as the engine starts up. he should text his dad. he should text pete. but fuck, he's filled with so much adrenaline that his head is pounding, and he's never been so certain that he needs to talk to someone as he is right now. he wants to see pete. to touch him, to hold him, and play with his hair. </p><p>mikey pulls onto the semi familiar cul-de-sac, looking at all the houses until he finds the right one. there's no cars in the drive except for pete's. it's almost too perfect, and mikey's a complete wreck as he slides to get out of out of the passenger door. the gravel of the driveway crunches under his feet, grounding him. </p><p>"michael?", a surprised voice calls, and mikey turns around to see not the person he's looking for, but instead sees pete's mother, who gives him a hug when she gets close enough. "i was just walking back from the corner store, i could've gotten you some chocolate if i knew you were coming".<br/>
"oh, i'm fine, thank you. i'm not really a chocolate fan unless it's coffee flavoured. my mom always says i have an elderly tastebuds", mikey makes awkward conversation and follows the woman up the drive, suddenly consciously aware that he looks bedraggled and probably reeks of the night before.<br/>
"well, that makes two of us", she unlocks the door and lets him in. mikey slips off his shoes and proceeds with walking five steps behind her, into the kitchen this time. </p><p>"i take it you're here for pete", she smiles, setting the small shopping bag onto the worktop and starting to unload it.<br/>
"i am".<br/>
"well that's a relief, because everyone else is out, and i'm not much company", she says, and then grimaces. "though, i'm afraid petey may not be much fun either. he's sort of... not well, if you know what i mean".<br/>
"he told me he gets low sometimes".<br/>
"he's coming down from a depressive episode. today was the first time in days that he showered and brushed his teeth - i don't mean to embarrass him like this, i'm proud of him, but he's still worryingly spacey. i'm not sure if he's up for company".<br/>
"i think i'd still like to see him, if that's okay".<br/>
"course", she presses a bar of chocolate into mikeys hands. "cookies and cream is his favourite. he's in the basement, sweetie". </p><p>so mikey easily remembers the route back downstairs, bar of chocolate in hand, stomach churning like he's nervous. he might be nervous. he's not sure, because he's never felt like this about a person before - he thinks of ways he's going to try and iterate that as he walks down the stairs, growing more anxious with each step until it's too late to turn back around and leave, because he's looking pete in the eyes.</p><p>the boy is sat cross legged on the end of the sofa, a movie that mikey vaguely recognises paused on the t.v screen. he has a big hoodie, star wars pyjama pants, mismatched socks, and the bags under his eyes are large and obvious, as if he hasn't slept for days. he probably hasn't. </p><p>"hey", mikey says lamely, sitting down beside him and putting the chocolate on the floor, beside a t.v tray with a pile of empty dishes on. pete gives a vacant stare for a few seconds, and then forces himself to smile. voice faltering, he makes his first attempt at real conversation in days.<br/>
"hey, mikes". </p><p>he sounds vacant and unnatural, far from the bubbly pete that mikey has been getting to know. mikey's brain barely recognises that this pale, withered shell of a boy is the same person who had him standing in the pouring down rain and screaming at the sky. </p><p>"watching dirty dancing? my friend back in the city, gabe, he loves this film", mikey smiles, speaking softly to match the solemn atmosphere. "can i hang out and watch it with you?". <br/>
"yeah", pete nods, finding the chunky television remote beneath him somewhere and then pressing play. the characters on the screen jump back into action, but the boys sitting in the basement stay stagnant until pete asks, "can you snuggle me?". </p><p>mikey's mouth parts into a shocked little 'o' as he expected more hostility and less intimacy, but it's clear pete is severely touch starved. combined with the fact that he could never say no to him, mikey lets out a gentle, "of course i can", and joins pete in shifting so they they're spooning on the sofa. </p><p>they fall back into watching dirty dancing in complete silence after that, but it's nice. pete smells like kiwi body wash, and mikey remembers something mrs wentz was saying about him showering for the first time today, so mikey places a little kiss on the boys shoulder blade and whispers, "i'm proud of you", into his ear. pete's nonverbal response is to pull mikey's arm further around his waist, lift up the boy's hand and kiss it. </p><p>this all reminds mikey too much of his mom, and how she'd come home after being gone for days, or weeks, and take a complete turn for the worse, wanting only to sit in her bed and watch telenovelas in a language she didn't even understand. sometimes the downward spirals could consume her for months at a time, and mikey would always come home early and spend his weekends in bed with her, painting her nails and braiding her hair, learning how to comfort her as the years went by and the episodes got worse, and more frequent. he remembers it being scary at first, seeing his beautiful mother in bed looking skinny and colourless, not eating, barely having enough energy to keep her eyes open. the thing about it being just the two of them, though, was that mikey knew how to deal with it. he learned how to nurture.</p><p>he runs a hand along the boy's chest and finally takes the leap.<br/>
"pete... i need you to know that i understand what you're going though".<br/>
"no you don't, mikey".<br/>
"i do, believe me", the boy insist. "and i'm sorry for trying to push the idea of us hooking up. you had every right to call me the things that you did, because you were right. i rely on sex, it's a drug to me, but i don't want to rush you into anything just bc i'm hyper sexual".<br/>
"mikes...", pete's voice sounds despairing as he turns around on the sofa so that they're looking right at each other. "did you do something wrong? did you sleep with someone?".<br/>
"yeah", mikey's voice cracks with the confession, that white hot guilt burning through him once more, but his heart beat slows and his body temperature cools when pete places a hand on his face.<br/>
"okay", he whispers. he doesn't get mad, or ask who it was. he just cups pete's face and looks him sympathetically in the eyes. "it's okay. are you going to do it again?".</p><p>mikey feels a tear run down his face, astounded by pete's stoic compassion. he knows more than ever that whatever he has with pete is more than just a crush. he doesn't ever want to hurt pete. he'd die before he hurt him.<br/>
"no", mikey responds, telling the truth for once. "i don't think i'm gonna do it again".<br/>
"okay". </p><p>the pair kiss until they're breathless, letting out emotions that have been pent up for days. mikey gives the power over to pete, letting him take the lead and set the boundaries. he kisses down mikey's neck, touches his sides, grips at his hair - mikey grins and allows it, entranced by the way pete is enthralled in his exploration. </p><p>their fervent reunion cools down after about ten minutes, and pete relaxes into mikey's arms, head on his chest.<br/>
"i really like you", pete whispers, eyes fluttering closed. mikey trails a finger up the boy's back, placing a kiss on his head. the one thing in the world that mikey knows he can rely on is currently cradled in his arms. he beams with pleasure.<br/>
"i like you too, pete".</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. nobody puts baby in a corner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW //<br/>mentions of self harm scars</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>pete traces his hands down mikey's chest, lingering tenderly before his fingers stop to hover over the faded scar near mikey's abdomen. he traces it, about three inches long and barely visible, though the dim emission from the few lamps in the basement are not a very pleasing or promising light source. </p><p>it's all up in the air how they even got into this position: both of their shirts off completely, and yet not because they're mid way through desperately ravaging each other's clothes off like animals. mikey's not sure he remembers the last time someone has had their hands on his body without that exact intention, and it's overwhelmingly nice just having pete sit on his hips as the pair exchange stories about how the earned each scrape, scar and bruise.  </p><p>"i had an appendectomy", he states, like that wasn't entirely obvious for anyone with the most acute bit of general knowledge. pete nods and smirks.<br/>
"the texture - it looks like when hillary has a run in her tights". pete finds the energy somewhere in himself to laugh, and mikey joins in knowing he isn't making fun. he wouldn't. in fact, after giving mikey a tour of the war wounds he's acquired, during football, all over his lean body, he couldn't.<br/>
"you're one to talk", mikey rolls his eyes and prods at his torso that hosts a few nondescript bruises. neither of them talk about the scars on pete's wrists and forearms, but they're all too aware of their presence: although they're mostly faded now, there are a few that look fresh, really fresh, and mikey aches knowing he doesn't know how to help. </p><p>he noticed them the first time he ever saw pete without a jacket on. there are just some things that you don't bring up to<br/>
people you've only just met, even if that person has had their tongue in your mouth. </p><p>"wait, shut up a sec", pete says when he looks at the television, slapping lightly at mikey like he does when he's excited. "it's the best part of the movie".<br/>
"ugh, i told you i was gonna show you all my battle scars so that we could stop watching this shit!", mikey groans. in the last thirty minutes, he's come to the conclusion that gabe and pete both have awful taste in movies, and that dirty dancing has far too few explosions and menacing villains.</p><p>pete shoots him a glare as a warning, and presses a finger up to the boy's lips.<br/>
"nobody puts baby in a corner", he mouths in sync, and mikey watches in awe as a smile creeps across his face and his eyes become transfixed on the screen. it's the most quiet and most focused he's ever seen pete be, aside from maybe when he's playing football, and he can't help but grin like an idiot as he half watches the movie, half watches pete sway gently with the music. he gasps when they do the lift, too, like he hasn't seen this movie a trillion times. his childish wonder makes mikey's heart ache in a way he can't explain. </p><p>"it's so good", pete nods like he's confirming his own suspicions. "gets me every time. patrick swayze is so freaking beautiful".<br/>
"you kidding me?", mikey interjects, and then finds pete's gaze. "saturday night fever? if we’re talking hot guys from lame movies, john travolta beats patrick swayze any day", he takes on an accusatory tone.<br/>
"oh, so you like them dumb", pete teases, and mikey nods matter-of-factly.<br/>
"i do", he insists. "but not you. you're not dumb".</p><p>his voice drops to a different tone at the end of his sentence, hinting at his doting sincerity. pete picks up on this, and his smile that was once pure becomes tainted with the smallest glimmer of impropriety. </p><p>"i'm not innocent either, you know". mikey's breath hitches ever so slightly. did he mishear that? he had to have misheard that.<br/>
"mmm?", he asks, hoping it comes out sounding calm despite the sirens blaring deafeningly in his brain.<br/>
"i'm not innocent", pete repeats, as clear as day. "i haven't slept around - doesn't mean i haven't done other stuff. actually, it just means i've had a lot of practice, stalling with the... other stuff". </p><p>there's a sweet, dangerous emphasis on the last two words he utters, and the sirens start to blare even louder as mikey struggles for words. pete's lips on his are a clarification that he definitely, definitely didn't mishear him. </p><p>the way pete kisses him never fails to make mikey weak at the knees, even in this horizontal position. he sinks back into the sofa cushions and smiles through the osculation: it's an overwhelming  feeling that he never wants to stop, but when pete's lips move to his neck and he feels hands gripping at his belt, he puts on the breaks. </p><p>"hey, qb, wait a second", he whispers, looking him in the eye. "what are we doing? you don't...". there's a break, and pete waits impatiently while the boy underneath him tries to form a thought, kissing down his chest and sending subsequent shockwaves up the taller boy's spine. </p><p>"don't do this just because i hooked up with someone else. i don't want you to like... feel like you need to prove yourself to me", mikey concludes, but doesn't make the effort to stop pete, who's kisses have now reached the trail of hair that disappears underneath the waistband of his jeans. "pete, fuck-".</p><p>then pete moves to hover over him fully, and  mikey is looking right into those beautiful brown eyes, which still have an undeterred mischief in them.<br/>
"virgin. not a prude", pete reiterates his initial point, slipping a small amount of tongue into the next kiss. "i'm not having sex with you, mikey way".<br/>
"good, that's... i'm not asking for it", mikey nods. he's learnt his lesson.<br/>
"not tonight, at least".</p><p>he slides a hand between them, expertly unbuckling mikey's belt. </p><p>"i agree. this isn't the time or the place".<br/>
"when it is, you'll know", pete almost promises, smirking. "now, if you want me to show you what i've learnt from being belleville high school’s most sought after bachelor-". </p><p>mikey's got every right to believe pete is bluffing, and that he's not as mind-blowingly experienced as he's hyping himself up to be. he's also got every right to ignore his intuition on the grounds of not giving a shit. this is pete. his pete, the quarterback. the strangest, most perfect little creature on planet earth, straddling his hips and asking so desperately to-</p><p>"woah, boys. are we interrupting?", a third voice joins the conversation, sounding shocked and entertained, and slightly disgusted. the boys spring apart guiltily, and see hillary crouching on the stairs with andrew giggling next to her. pete jumps up to his feet and grabs his tshirt off of the floor, pulling it messily over his head while he explains that 'this really isn't what it looks like', a practically useless exclamation due to the fact that mikey is guiltily fastening his jeans back up while he says it. </p><p>as it turns out, the kids had been sent into the basement to ask pete and mikey if they want to come to the kitchen for some lunch. they don't turn down the offer, even though pete is so flustered that his face starts burning red hot. he tosses mikey his hoodie, and doesn't say another word until they're upstairs. </p><p>red in the face and suffering from a detrimentally premature case of sex-hair isn't ideally how mikey would like to meet pete's father, but luckily he doesn't seem to notice, extending a hand to excitedly greet mikey as the pair come traipsing into the kitchen with 'guilty' written all over their faces. </p><p>"mikey way! so glad i finally get to meet you. when dale told me our boy was friends with a wentz... well, my gosh, was i excited”. he’s white, with fair hair, but his smile is the same as pete’s. “i used to go to the bar with your father when we were younger. very respectable guy, he always talked so big of you and your older brother", he comes on strong, but mikey's more charmed than he is put-off.<br/>
"i see where pete gets his whirlwind personality, mr wentz", mikey laughs and takes a seat on the nearest chair.<br/>
"please, call me peter". </p><p>the atmosphere in this kitchen, in contrast to the bleakness of dining with his family at home, hits mikey like a truck. he gets momentarily transfixed on pete's mom, dale, rushing around to take the food out of the oven, and on the way peter interacts with his children, doting over them like they're the only people in the world. they're so far from the brokenness that became a norm for mikey when he was still in diapers. </p><p>"... dad drives huge trucks for work", andrew sits down in the seat opposite mikey. mikey glances over at pete, who's assisting his his mother and hillary in plating up the food. he shrugs. mikey decides not to decline the unexpected attention.<br/>
"i'm a long haul delivery driver", peter elaborates. mikey nods, looking at andrew.<br/>
"ah, cool. do you like your dad's trucks?".<br/>
"i prefer rockets. and trains". </p><p>mikey grins. “cool”. it's a sorry attempt at conversation, but he's not really good at interacting with kids. at least andrew seems satisfied, going straight back to playing with his tamagotchi. he's got the same attention span as his older brother. </p><p>a couple of seconds later, the others come to sit down and join them at the table. pete sits beside mikey, as always, and pushes a plate in front of him.<br/>
"that's carribean potato soup", he whispers, giving a tired but genuine smile. "careful, mama makes it spicy".<br/>
"spicy?".<br/>
"for you, yeah", pete grins. he's definitely in a better mood than he was earlier, before the talking and the kissing and the patrick swayze, but there's definitely still a definitive exhaustion in his eyes. </p><p>gentle conversation starts up between the family as mikey struggles to handle the tantalisingly unfamiliar flavours of the food he's eating. he gets caught up in the hankering for a tight knit family and nothing really draws his attention back. not until dale telling her husband they 'must get the air con upstairs fixed' triggers a chain of events in which pete mentions the basement's air con being broken too, and andrew asks if that's why he and mikey had their shirts off. </p><p>hillary, who's sitting on the other side of pete, chokes on her water, delighting in the shocked looks spreading across her parent's faces.<br/>
"nice", she grins, raising both her arms to high five her bothers. andrew high fives her. pete doesn’t. "so are you guys like, dating? because if so, we're gonna have to get a lock on the basement door".<br/>
"get lost, hillary". </p><p>after a very long and silent pause, time in which mikey spends trying to get the ground to open up and swallow him whole, dale clears her throat. </p><p>"no, no. the basement door can stay exactly how it is", she says, her voice so calm and soothing even when it's tinged with motherly concern. "pete, honey, are you going to answer your sister?".</p><p>pete glances at mikey, who's staring down at his plate as if someone just flicked a switch and powered him off.<br/>
"yeah, whatever", pete says. "mikeyway is my boyfriend". </p><p>he rests his head on mikey's shoulder, linking their free hands together while his parents frowns turn into delighted smiles. oddly, nobody makes a big deal. </p><p>mikey doesnt really want to go home later that afternoon, but he doesn't want to hurt his dad's feelings by staying out any longer. he awkwardly kisses pete goodbye at the door, and thinks about him for the whole drive home. </p><p>boyfriend? he's never been anybody's boyfriend. sure, the thought of dating pete has crossed his mind, but mikey was fucking someone else less than twenty four hours ago. things are moving quickly, too quickly, and it's melting his brain into mush. </p><p>the next day, mikey is the world's most perfect son: he gets up early and makes some slightly amateur french toast, wears his nicest pants for church, and laughs at every lame dad joke that gets thrown his way, which is pretty easy, because he secretly thinks his dad is the funniest person he's ever met. he even puts extra effort into getting along with gerard, which is not as easy because all he seems to be able to do at the minute is brag about how 'genius' he is. </p><p>when the family get home, gerard vacates back down to the basement where frank will have snuck in through the window, and will undoubtedly be waiting for him. he sneaks into the basement a lot. of course, mikey knows that frank is fucking his brother - everyone knows that - but they thinks it makes things less awkward if mikey doesn't know when and where. it was a nice consideration, but it's always painstakingly obvious if frank is waiting for gerard based on the speed at which he walks down the stairs. it's gross. it's more gross now than ever, with the memory of how frank tastes still fresh on his tongue. </p><p>"why are you being so good? and don't tell me it's just because you're happy to be here, because that's bullshit", mikey's dad finally asks when they're both stood in the kitchen. it's the first time he's heard him swear like that, aside from the odd expletive while they all watch crappy game shows together in the evenings.<br/>
"i hate to leave again, but...", mikey sighs. he really doesn't enjoy skipping out on his dad, especially not after years of not seeing him. "i just really have to go see my friend, and i was wondering if i could take your car?".<br/>
"bud, i get it", his dad smiles.<br/>
"you do?", mikey plays dumb and hopes to god that his dad hasn't overheard anything. <br/>
"mikes, of course i do. i was young once, you know? you've got a girlfriend, you don't wanna tell your old man about her. go and see her, kid, it's rude to keep a lady waiting. keys are in my coat pocket". </p><p>mikey sits somewhere between relief and offence - he settles on forcing out a 'thank you' and wondering what gerard would say if he heard their father make such a heteronormative assumption. </p><p>still, the thought of having a girlfriend strikes less fear in him than being pete's boyfriend does. </p><p>he's never been one for commitment, and he feels more cornered than he has in months on the drive over to pete’s, he desperately searches for the answer to possibly the dumbest question he’s ever asked himself:</p><p>what would baby houseman do?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. less erratic, more erotic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>mikey's first time in pete's bedroom gives him insight into the enigmatic treasure-trove that pete calls a brain.</p><p>pete is in the shower that he was about to take before mikey turned up, and his family are at church, leaving mikey to entertain himself. he moves around the bedroom gingerly, aware that pete is only in the bathroom and can most likely hear him walking around.</p><p>the walls are painted dark red, apart from one that is a mismatched dark green, but they're all plastered heavily with the last few years of pete's life: posters, medals, polaroid photos, and a shelf that holds football trophies. his bed isn't made, a sagging old beanbag is strewn haphazardly across the floor, and the large dresser in the corner is scattered with junk. just at a quick glance, mikey spots a pile of CD's, two eyeliner pencils despite never having seen pete in eyeliner, a pair of gloves, car keys, a copy of romeo &amp; juliet and a copy of frankenstein that look well-loved, and a large algebra textbook that looks practically unused in comparison. Most noticeably amongst the clutter is a sizable pile of paper, which mikey thinks might be letters at first, but upon closer inspection, he sees that they all have poetic phrases scribbled onto them in messy black scrawl: "anything you say can and will be held against you, so only say my name"; "us, we were pity sex, nothing more and nothing less"; "I got too high again, realised I can't not be with you, or be just your friend"; "say my name and his in the same breath, i dare you to say they taste the same".</p><p>The last one strikes mikey like a smack to the jaw. are these lyrics? are they about him? He didn't even know pete wrote songs, but there's all this evidence spraweld out in front of him just waiting to be analysed.</p><p>he shakes his head before he spirals - it's rude of him to be snooping like this, and he reminds himself of how his mom used to act when she had a cleaning job, and would always drag a young mikey along to scour every inch of some rich ladies house because she couldn't afford a babysitter. the job didn't last long, because donna tended to interpret these houses as free real estate - a necklace here, some earrings there, maybe a toy car for mikey if he was good and helped take the trash out, or make the beds. it wasn't alarming to him at the time, but it's always been one of the only things that mikey holds against his mom, especially after meeting gabe and finding out that they had stolen from his house on occasion.</p><p>it makes him feel cheap, and dirty. he hasn't stolen anything since, apart from the occasional bottle of wine from kristin's dad, but that feels justifiable on the grounds of necessity.</p><p>pete's been in the shower for about ten minutes now. mikey can see into the room, hear the water beating into the bathtub, and the distant whir of the fan. he can also hear pete's gentle hums as he sings to himself. he wonders if it's one of the songs scribbled onto the scraps of paper that he just peaked at.</p><p>"mikey, you still in there?", pete's voice suddenly calls out, and mikey gasps guiltily.<br/>"uh, yeah?", he hopes he doesn't sound nervous, because he certainly feels it. <br/>"come in here a sec".</p><p>oh, fuck. is he in trouble? does pete have a sixth sense, some deeply rooted inkling that mikey had been poking around in his personal belongings, just like mrs bandersnatch had with his mother. </p><p>mikey steps into the bathroom, and stands facing the bright green shower curtain, knowing all too vividly that it's the only thing separating him from pete. naked pete, with water dripping from his toned shoulders and contouring his impossibly tiny waist. pete who likes him, who might even write songs about him. shit. shut up. breathe, and remember how to speak.</p><p>"can you grab me that body wash? the kiwi one over by the sink", pete asks, and mikey lets out the most gratifying exhale of his entire life. he hasn't been busted.<br/>"gotcha", he says, grabbing the halfway empty bottle and placing it in pete's hand, which then disappears back to the privacy of behind the curtain. he's about to turn and leave pete to get on with it, but the boy says, "i was on the phone to joe before you got here, that's why i didn't get a chance to shower. he calls me most mornings when i... get like this".<br/>"when you get like this", mikey repeats, then nods. "that's sweet".<br/>"yeah, our little joseph can be a sweetie. he was worried, because i told him didn't go to church".<br/>"i get it. you're not ready for crowds yet", mikey nods, even though pete can't see him. </p><p>the boy looks around awkwardly before taking a seat on the closed toilet lid, folding his gangly legs so that he fits properly. it's oddly intimate, having a conversation like this, but things never really feel weird with pete. </p><p>"you guys are close, then?", mikey tries to drag out the conversation, always secretly desperate to hear everything about pete's life. "i know you're on the team together, but i... i don't know, i guess I'm still too new around school to notice the cliques properly".<br/>"yeah, well, he's practically family. i spend hanukkah with him, he spends christmas with me. i told him about you, actually. told him not to worry, and that you were coming here to look after me again today". <br/>"did you... tell him i was your boyfriend?".</p><p>the water cuts out rather abruptly, and after fumbling for his towel, pete gets out of the shower and stands there in front of mikey, dripping wet and about ten times more delectable than the average human brain could ever comprehend. he grabs the other, smaller towel and starts patting his hair with it, smirking. </p><p>"calm down, mr commitment issues", he laughs, rolling his eyes. "i only told my parents that because i didn't want to blow our cover. i'd rather have them think i'm dating you, instead of what we're doing here".<br/>"and what exactly are we doing here?" mikey smiles, but his confidence drops and the butterflies come swarming back when pete, practically naked if not for the towel covering his modesty, steps forward and leans in, catching mikey's lips between his own in a kiss that ever so slightly flirts with indecency. <br/>"we're friends who kiss... and stuff".<br/>"and stuff?", mikey repeats him again, eyes wide. he wants the 'and stuff'. he really, really wants the 'and stuff'.</p><p>it's not the time, though. he knows better than to push it, or take it out of pete's control. the teasing and the waiting for initiation is gruelling and exhilarating at the same time. this is the kind of friendship he needed, the kind of thrill that they were both seeking the night that they met, and as the impromptu makeout session is rapidly interrupted by the sound of a car in the driveway, pete lets out the most heavenly sigh. <br/>"access denied", mikey jokes, causing laughter between the two of them. "go put some clothes on".<br/>"yes, sir", pete grins, but the impropriety has gone. he's just charming, infuriatingly handsome pete again. the best friend. the boy next door. the quarterback. that stupid, unattainable crush that has suddenly become very attainable once more.</p><p>Mikey gets thrown into detention after school on monday, because he had done a grand total of 0 homework assignments over his hectic weekend. it's fine, because frank is in the same boat, so they pass the time by throwing crumpled up notes at each other and stifling their giggles while a weedy supply teacher does a terrible job of overseeing them, but it also means he can't go back to pete's for the third night running, which sucks. he misses him more than he should.</p><p>when tuesday last period comes, mikey packs his homework into his messenger bag and gets a ride to pete's off of alicia, ignoring her crude remark to 'rubber up'. he deflects it by telling her to 'have fun at the shrink', kissing her on the cheek and hopping out of the car. </p><p>he actually does his homework, taking over pete's coffee table while pete sits next to him and cracks open a chem textbook, making several failed attempts to start answering any of the questions inside of it. he attacks mikey with kisses every few minutes instead, and mikey fondly pushes him away and tells him to focus each time, but pete always comes back for more, without fail. </p><p>"you have the attention span of a fish", mikey sighs, closing his book. "what do you want?".<br/>"nothing, i just like you", pete smiles, a little self conscious. "i like hanging out with you". after that, the kisses get slower, less erratic and more eroitc, and his lips drop down to the younger boy's neck. </p><p>"you're lucky you're such a keeper, qb. get over here", mikey has to sigh and give in, leaning back against the couch as pete straddles his hips right there on the floor, with his whole family upstairs. he definitely doesn't stop him though, pulling him closer and grunting unbecomingly. </p><p>"fuck", mikey takes a bated breath as pete grips at the base of mikey's tight little shirt.<br/>"i swear, you wear a size too small just to fuck with me".<br/>"i don't dress for you", mikey says, smugly, and pete giggles before pressing their lips together once more, adding the welcome surprise of tongue while he's at it. </p><p>a few more tugs at the hem of mikey's shirt and it's off, being careful not to take off his glasses in the process.<br/>"let's pray to god that your siblings don't catch us again".<br/>"de ja vu?", pete asks, biting lightly at mikey's bottom lip. </p><p>mikey groans, and his eyes flutter shut. he can do his work later. </p><p>he quite enjoys the comfort that these monotonous days with pete bring, fully convinced he could live down in this basement with him forever, just the two of them. it almost makes him consider their futures together, once the thrill of 'friends who kiss' expires, and real emotions come sneaking up on them. </p><p>"if you're quiet, i might let you go down on me", pete whispers, and a chill shoots up mikey's spine as he brings his focus back to what is happening.</p><p>fuck it, he thinks. he can definitely do his work later.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. life is like a box of chocolates, except you have a peanut allergy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>for the most part, mikey has gotten over drawing comparisons between his old life and his new one. he has learnt how to separate them, keep them segregated, and accept that they are two completely different worlds. he doesn't even miss the city that much.</p><p>for the most part.</p><p>he wakes up on february the fourteenth with no expectation that this is going to be similar to his normal valentines days. of course, there is still some positive. pete has been teaching him to create more positive energy.</p><p>when he gets to school that morning, he's greeted by alicia and frank standing suspiciously in front of his locker. frank sees him coming first, giving a sickeningly excited grin.<br/>
"swizzels loveheart?", he offers some of the candy that he's eating, and mikey accepts, taking two because he likes the way they fizz in his mouth.<br/>
"what's going on?", he asks, not being able to keep in his smile, because frank is wearing little heart shaped hair slides and alicia actually seems ecstatic to be awake so early for once. the atmosphere is just plain nice today, and everyone seems to be looking at things through rose-tinted glasses. </p><p>it's like cupid has been to visit. </p><p>"your locker got attacked by the valentines day fairy", alicia says with almost perfect timing.<br/>
"what?", mikey is pulled out of his thoughts, ignoring the giggles that the pair in front of him are emitting. he gently steps around them, to take a look at his locker, and then sees something that almost makes him choke on his candy.</p><p>the locker isn't just dinted blue metal anymore: there's a long chain of red and pink paper hearts strung up like bunting, with the words "happy vday mway" written on them, and a comically large greeting card taped to the surface. mikey, still bewildered, gently removes the card and opens it up.</p><p>'happy vday, mikes!</p><p>belleville tradition, you decorate the locker of the person you love the most. it's your first year here, so we figured we'd all do it for you. you're the best friend ever!</p><p>we love you, stupid :)</p><p>xoxo,<br/>
jamia, alicia + frnk'.</p><p>"oh my god, you guys. what the fuck! thank you so much!", mikey's jaw starts hurting from smiling so much, as he pulls them both into a lengthy hug instead. "you got here early just to set this all up?".<br/>
"jam too, but she's spreading pep over in jock city", frank points to the double doors that lead out to the courtyard, where most of the football team and all of the cheerleaders are.  jamia is wearing little feathered angel wings and handing out roses with a couple of other girls, and Pete is helping her, instead of sitting on the bench like joe and a few other football guys that mikey's never paid much attention too before now. oddly, new jersey is still getting some sun before the inevitable coldness kicks in, and mikey's glad he gets to see pete's coffee creamer skin doused in gold for just a little while longer. </p><p>he looks absolutely beautiful. he's the most radiant person that mikey has ever seen, smiling softly as he gently harasses passers-by into taking a flower from his bouquet. without any exaggeration, mikey could stand and observe pete like this for the rest of his life and still not find him any less gorgeous.</p><p>he thanks his friends again before he shoves the card into his messenger bag, making the painfully transparent excuse of 'going over there to thank jamia', which gets alicia and frank snickering again. he isn't exactly lying, and he does pull her into a very genuine hug when he gets out there, but he's more focused on pete. his pete. his alterior motive.</p><p>"back so soon, qb. did you miss me that much?", mikey teases, as if they haven't been spending every waking hour together recently. pete beams harder than the sunlight that is framing his virtue, gasping like he's surprised to see mikey in the school they both go to.<br/>
"mikes!", he tugs at his sleeve. "wait, over here...".</p><p>he pulls mikey a few feet away, into the narrow alley behind the kitchen, where the cafeteria ladies come for a smoke break. pete then gently presses mikey's back against the cold brick, diving in for a kiss. it smells like pizza grease back here, but mikey doesn't care. he just kisses back until he's short of breath, and licks his lips when pete mercilessly pulls away.<br/>
"you really did miss me", he laughs, and pete shifts from foot to foot with an uncanny self-consciousness to him.<br/>
"i did. i missed football, but i missed you too", he sounds downright bashful. "you want a rose?".<br/>
"you're giving me a rose?", there's only a hint of sarcasm in mikey's tone. pete nods, offering the flower.<br/>
"i am. couldn't decorate your locker, so".<br/>
"thank you", mikey feels so chaste and demure, blushing while holding a rose from a boy he likes on fucking valentines day, but he doesn't dare ruin it for himself. he just focuses on pete's lips again until they're interrupted by the shrill first-period bell.</p><p> </p><p>"shit", pete heaves. "not fair. fucking bell".<br/>
"i have study hall", mikey states.<br/>
"i have chem".<br/>
"gross".<br/>
"agreed", pete nods. mikey watches the shorter boy form a thought, carefully consider it, and hesitate before saying it. "but we could...".<br/>
"we could what", mikey laughs. pete smirks, eyes twinkling with deeply rooted mischief.<br/>
"you wanna go make out in my car?", he says. </p><p>and, obviously, mikey agrees. he's not an idiot.</p><p>the day doesn't get better after that morning rendezvous, but it doesn't get any worse either. it's just full of very welcome surprises, like the girl in his math class who baked gummy bear brownies for everybody, or the surprise assembly that is called just so the cheer squad can perform a special valentines day dance (and, of course, mikey and frank are the loudest people in the crowd, cheering jamia on while a bright red alicia in sandwiched between them).</p><p>mikey thinks the final surprise is that gerard actually invites him into the basement to hang out when he gets home. he's probably just doing it because he's got frank it tow, but mikey doesn't dare question his brother's motives, content with how civil they're being lately.</p><p>ray is there too,  sitting next to gerard on the sagging beanbags: the pair are swearing their way through a boss battle in the video game they've been playing for days now. frank's lay on his stomach, on the unkempt sheets of gerard's bed, sifting through the contents of a box that has the words 'prom ideas' written on it, in purple glitter nonetheless. he keeps letting out little huffs of discontent, so mikey decides he's bored of homework and focuses his attention on frank instead.</p><p>"want me to be your 'yes' pile? or smack you over the head with a rock? whichever works".<br/>
"oh god, mikes, you have no idea", the boy looks by far the most stressed that mikey has ever seen him.<br/>
"need i remind you that prom is three months away", mikey says, staring at a large stack of suggestion cards. "there really is no rest for the wicked, huh?".<br/>
"run for student pres, they said. it'll be fun, they said", frank half jokes, reading one of the cards that he's holding. "the dance committee have been up my ass about approving some ideas... this clown really wants an 'adventures in wonderland' theme. what are we, twelve?". mikey laughs as he tosses it into the no pile. </p><p>"belleville is kinda prom crazy", ray, from across the room, tells mikey. "they don't get a sadie hawkins, they don't get a spring fling, they don't even get a sweethearts ball - that's why you guys are stuck in here with us tonight, instead of out spiking some punch with stolen vodka or whatever".<br/>
"the only thing they love more than prom is football", gerard agrees. "there's a game tomorrow, and i bet you there's gonna be complete and utter bedlam if they don't win".<br/>
"it's true. all the dance committee have is prom and a few lame homecomings. you'd think that they'd take it a little more seriously, all things considered", frank sighs and tosses another card with 'mermaids' written on it to the floor.<br/>
"how about this...", mikey takes a card, then grimaces as he reads it. "... the spanish armada? what the-".<br/>
"no!", frank almost yells, and seems just about ready to give up. "idiots. this is why we can't have dances! because no one's brains work enough to generate any good ideas".</p><p>gerard pauses the video game, and smirks at frank.<br/>
"i wouldn't shun the creative ideas, sugar. you'd look cute all dressed up in a puffy ballgown", he says. "you guys want a soda?".<br/>
"please", mikey nods, pushing up his glasses.<br/>
"me, dumbass", frank chooses not to be as polite.<br/>
"whatever, asshole", gerard spits back, but for some reason, the two of them look endeared by the insults. "get purple glitter on my bed and you die". it's their love language. </p><p>he heads up the stairs, and ray follows him. mikey shoots frank a look that says 'please stop flirting with my brother'. frank winks as if to say 'no can do, kid'.</p><p>the 'yes' pile that mikey's holding ends up being about six or seven ideas, which they agree is a fair amount to pick from. the 'no' pile that has now filled up gerard's trashcan is overwhelmingly big in comparison, and there's a single card labelled as 'maybe' because a phantom of the opera theme is appealing, but frank's not sure the student body is willing to subject themselves to wailing from the obnoxious theatre kids all night.</p><p>"all those candles? it'd be a very romantic fire hazard", mikey wiggles his eyebrows, and frank shoves him lightly.<br/>
"oh, right, you start dating the quarterback and suddenly you know all about romance", he teases, taking the remaining cards from mikey's hands and putting them away, kicking the box out of sight like the glittery monstrosity is burning his corneas.<br/>
"not dating pete. kissing pete. doing lots and lots of kissing, and talking, and hanging out. but not dating", he protests.<br/>
"is that why you skipped study hall today, slut?", frank raises his eyebrow, and then mikey is tackling him, the mattress creaking vociferously under their weight as frank screams and giggles, trying desperately to stop an equally humoured mikey from tickling his sides.</p><p>mikey's phone, which has been knocked onto the floor, suddenly starts to buzz, and when he gets up to get it, frank sighs in relief and whispers, "saved by the bell". what he is met with as he sits up, though, is certainly not a happy face.<br/>
"mikey?".</p><p>and there it is, one more gut-wrenching surprise.</p><p>"it's my mom", the boy says, and takes a sharp inhale. "my mom is calling".</p><p>lost for what to say, frank is thankful when mikey rushes to the bathroom to answer the call.</p><p>it takes him long, far too long, to answer. it's almost at the last ring when he accepts and croaks out a nervous, "hello?", preparing for the worst. preparing for a man's voice, maybe a police officer, or one of the guys she's touring with, telling him 'donna took an od, she's in the hospital' or 'you owe me money, your stupid cunt of a mother lost it all'. it's never happened before, at least not to that extent, but mikey's brain takes reality and twists it to make even the most unfathomable circumstance seem real. </p><p>"mikes? oh my god, mikes!", a voice on the other line sings, and mikey collapses with his back against the door, knees going weak because of sheer relief. "are you there, honey?".<br/>
"yeah, i-", mikey wipes a stray tear from his eye with his sleeve. "shit. mom, oh my god. i thought you said you wouldn't be able to call me for a few months".<br/>
"i found a payphone on the way to vegas, baby. how's your dad treating you?".<br/>
"it's good, he's great, don't worry about me. what's touring like? where are you?", mikey doesn't want to bore her with the mundane details of smalltown life. go to church, go to the movies, go to school, hang out in a basement, hang out in a parking lot. it's all so inconsequential in comparison to the bustle that he can hear occurring in the background of the call. plus he never wants to stop hearing her voice, warm and lively and just so 'home sweet home'.<br/>
"we have enough cash to stop at a motel for the night, so I'm looking forward to my first real bath in weeks", she laughs, despairingly. "I'm really falling in love with these guys - they're so sweet to us all, and i still know how to keep up with the youth. had this darling little guitar tech out until four one morning in boston".<br/>
"mmm", mikey hums, closing his eyes letting her talk.<br/>
"he's absolutely gorgeous. blonde, bright green eyes, probably not that much older than you. it makes me think i should've just brought you with me".<br/>
"you should bring me next time... wait, mom, speaking of guys...", he shifts, making himself comfier on the cold tile. "i've been kind of seeing this guy, he's called pete, and we're not exclusively dating but i like him a lot-".<br/>
"michael james, what have i told you about falling for people?", her tone of voice suddenly becomes more snappy. "you're too young to settle - seek thrill instead! it's just like i taught you... oh, baby boy. i miss you so much. mama is gonna be home soon, okay?".<br/>
"i know, i miss you too, but mom-".<br/>
"i've made so much money doing all these odd jobs, i think you're due a new guitar, right?".<br/>
"right", mikey says. "mom...".<br/>
"baby, i gotta go", she sounds impatient now, and mikey doesn't want to cause tension, so he bites down on his lip and takes a deep breath.<br/>
"yeah, good call. you shouldn't keep the band waiting. i love you, mom".<br/>
"i love you too, my beautiful boy. happy valentines day".</p><p>and with that, the line is dead.</p><p>happy valentines day? happy fucking valentines day? mikey is so filled with a wave of confused anger that he doesn't know what else to do besides erupt into a fit of ugly tears, catching the attention of the boys who are probably all sat on the other side of the door listening in. he doesn't know why he's crying, but once he starts he can't seem to stop, standing up and exiting the bathroom just to fall into his brother's arms. gerard seems alarmed at first, but his brotherly instincts kick in and he's wrapping strong arms around mikey, stroking his hair while ray and frank look on awkwardly. </p><p>"shit, mikes", gerard grimaces. "frank told us mom called, but-".<br/>
"fuck her", mikey sniffles. "fuck her for leaving, fuck her so fucking much, dude".<br/>
"oh- hey, i know", gerard tightens the grip of the hug once more, and mikey finds some regularity to his breathing, a promising sign that he's going to calm down.</p><p>once he successfully wipes his eyes dry, he tries to pull out of gerard's grip, suddenly embarrassed. gerard shakes his head.<br/>
"you love mom, mikey".<br/>
"i hate her".<br/>
"no, i hate her", he states. "you just miss her".</p><p>he's painfully correct.</p><p>the first time she calls him since she left, and she snaps at him. mikey has every right to start frantically calling her cell, hoping and praying she magically gains some signal so that he can beg her to come home, complain about how he doesn't fit in here, or at least ask for advice on what to do when you want to spend every waking moment with a boy you only just met. he misses her, and the city, and his life so much that he feels sick to his fucking stomach. he can't lie to himself or pretend that he's settled any more.</p><p>the four boys stand in silence for a couple of minutes, not at all marked by ease until ray holds up his hand like he's asking a question in class.</p><p>"you guys wanna get high?".</p><p>and fuck, mikey almost starts bawling again, because that's the best thing that anyone could've said right now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. riding (in cars with) boys</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>it's always a welcome surprise when pete climbs through mikey's window. it's special this time, because he grins and asks, "wanna go on an adventure?", to which mikey immediately agrees without asking anything further. it seems like the perfect horror movie opening, but it's fine. it's safe with pete, who brought a huge mug of coffee for them to share and has the radio turned on low. mikey smokes out of the window, the pity packet of cigarettes he got from gerard a painful reminder of his break earlier today. he doesn't care. he focuses on how they relieve the stress, making sleepy conversation with pete.</p><p>"shouldn't you be in bed? you've got a big game tomorrow, apparently".<br/>
"i play better on less sleep , no meds, and a clear head. that's what i'm doing - clearing my head. i just wanted to bring you along".</p><p>within twenty minutes, they end up at a lookout point in branch brook park, sitting on top of his car and taking in the forest of pink cherry blossom trees in front of them. it's more than nice. it's exactly what mikey needed. he kind of wishes he'd brought his guitar.</p><p>the late-night air brushes a refreshingly crisp coldness over him, like when you brush your teeth and drink ice water straight afterwards. it's just past eleven o'clock, but is still unseasonably warm out, so the wind is welcome. he just lies back on the hood and blows smoke up into the sky.</p><p>pete, lay beside him, doesn't seem at all phased by the weather either: he's wearing a spice girls t-shirt and wolffish grin. he watches mikey smoke, not saying a word until the taller boy leans over to stub the cigarette butt out.<br/>
"nice?", pete asks. mikey makes a gentle 'mmm' sound in response. "second cigarette of the night. thought you were only a social smoker".<br/>
mikey says, "i'm socialising now, aren't i?", then, "i'm a stress smoker too", when pete furrows his eyebrows at him.</p><p>branch brook is the most beautiful gem that newark has to offer, and yet mikey hasn't been since he was a child. there's a winding river, beautiful stone bridges and cherry blossoms as far as the eye can see. he decides that appreciating the beauty of nature is easier than addressing the daggers that pete is throwing him.</p><p>"you know, not far from here there's a roller rink that i go to with gabe like, all the time", mikey says. "it's crazy, i'm always near here. we could've seen each other hundreds of times".<br/>
"but i'm glad we met the way we did", pete leans over for a kiss, tasting nicotine in a way that makes him giddy more than it grosses him out.<br/>
"i'm just glad we met", mikey agrees, deepening the kiss, which pete enthusiastically goes along with for a couple of seconds until genuine concern gets the better of him.</p><p>"baby...", he sits up, jarring the both of them with how intimate that word feels. "what happened today?".<br/>
"my mom called".<br/>
"oh?".<br/>
"yeah", mikey sighs. he really doesn't want to bring it back up, but he also hates the idea of not letting pete be there for him. "she was busy but she... didn't wanna hear about you, i guess. she told me i shouldn't settle down, or take whatever we have too seriously. fuck, dude, she was so disappointed, i could literally hear it in her voice. i can't stand the idea of disappointing her". he sits up, not daring to make any eye contact no matter how much pete is begging for it. "i kinda cried in front of gerard... and ray, and frank. then we kinda got high and i cried a little bit more, in the bathroom so they didn't see me that time".</p><p>that's when pete realises how much damage has been done to mikey's perception of relationships at the hands of his mother. he shakes his head, cupping the younger boy's face in his hands.<br/>
"mikey... baby", there it is a again, slipping out casually as if it's ingrained into his vocabulary and not just a result of his maladaptive daydream scenarios.<br/>
"pete, i'm fine", he lies, choking up ever so slightly.<br/>
"god.... i get so scared about how fucked up you are".<br/>
"excuse me?".<br/>
"i like you, man. you're so sweet, i can't believe ants don't just carry you away", pete sighs, and an earnest smile spreads across his face. "i pretty much wanna jump your bones every time i see you, but you've just got such a fucked up idea of romance, and i'm worried you won't wanna spend time with me anymore if we... do it".</p><p>oh god. that came out like lava - unstoppably fast, red hot and merciless. pete thinks mikey might snap and yell at him. it's pretty much a modern miracle when he kisses him instead.</p><p>"i'm worried about that too", mikey admits with a bated breath. "when people only want you for one thing, you take that one thing as being your only positive attribute. i've never been 'boyfriend material' or whatever".<br/>
"you've got potential".<br/>
"i've got baggage".<br/>
"you've got baggage?", pete scoffs, sympathetically. "i've had two crushes in my life. both of them were on straight boys. one of them was my best friend, and one of them died".</p><p>mikey doesn't feel like a 'you win' is necessary. he just interlocks their fingers and takes steady breaths.<br/>
"sex is like, really awesome, though", mikey laughs, and it gets pete going too. "i'm not even kidding, there's something so artistic about human touch".<br/>
"you're waxing lyrical right now? this seems like the kind of conversation to have in a library, with cigars, while one of us is holding a skull".<br/>
"I'm not trying to get existential, i just... you can't tell me that there isn't something so... human? about our desire for skin against skin, and warmth, and touch. that's way better than talking. actions speak louder than words".<br/>
"you're secretly such a genius, mikeyway", pete tells him. "we should write together".<br/>
"you write about me. i saw", he blurts out haphazardly, then cringes. "i mean, i think it was about me? god, if you tell me i'm wrong then i'm gonna feel like the world's biggest-".</p><p>the next kiss that pete initiates, to cut him off, is long and puposeful. he slides tongue in there, and runs a hand in mikey's hair. when they pull apart, they're both rendered temporarily breathless.<br/>
"i write about you", pete confirms. "i could write a whole fucking album about you, michael james way".</p><p>the music that has been playing in the background fades, and a disc jockey with a raspy voice announces that iris by the goo goo dolls is up next. Pete gives an ecstatic smile upon hearing this.<br/>
"i love this song".<br/>
"i know this song", mikey laughs, and then becomes quite uncharacteristically nervous. "i, uhm... it's still valentine's day, you know?".<br/>
"and it's getting cold. maybe we could get back in the car?", pete agrees with a raised eyebrow, seemingly clocking onto mikey's intentions.</p><p>it's not until mikey's actually in the car, with a boy messily fumbling at his belt while a soppy love song plays on the radio that he realises what a cliche all of this is. pete looks so good in the dim yellow lighting of the backseat, and he's grinning too, all pointy teeth and dimples.<br/>
"gotta get these things off", pete gestures, finally managing to get the buckle undone, looking triumphant. mikey giggles - actually giggles, like a little kid - at how utterly, disgustingly, mind-numbingly perfect the boy in front of him is.<br/>
"i don't tell you how pretty you are enough", he says without thinking, cupping a hand on pete's jaw. "i think you're so...".<br/>
"pretty", pete nods. "you think I'm pretty".</p><p>mikey nods. it's hard to find adequate words to describe how you feel when the inside of your brain is blaring 'I LOVE YOU! I'M FALLING MADLY IN LOVE WITH YOU AND I WANT TO BE WITH YOU FOREVER, AND I KNOW YOU FEEL THE SAME!' louder than a fucking air raid siren.</p><p>it's not important. he can't think about it. he refuses to think about it. </p><p>"i gotta get back before midnight", pete says.<br/>
"well, duh, we wouldn't want you turning into a pumpkin".<br/>
"i don't have a condom, so we can't... but i thought i could...", he gestures down at the tight heat of mikey's boxers. "can i?".<br/>
mikey lets out a surprised, "really?!", followed by a rushed, "yeah, yeah please", and then pete keenly gets to work positioning himself between the boys legs. mikey half thinks he should ask pete to pinch him when the older boy starts placing kisses at his thighs, because how is this real. how is the exact thing that he stays awake thinking about actually panning out in real time.</p><p>it's cramped in the back seat, and the positioning is kind of awkward. they're both wearing far too many clothes, and mikey's sort of pressed against the passenger door in a very uncomfortable manner, but stopping this is the absolute last thing on his mind. he's pretty sure this is the first blowjob pete's ever given, but it doesn't feel like the mouth of an amateur - he's eager, overly-enthusiastic and careless about teeth and tongue and spit in a way that sends mikey's head spinning. when the time comes, he's glad when pete's intuition tells him to pull back, because he comes so unexpectedly and so hard that he sees stars, letting out a pathetic little whimper in the process. </p><p>after a couple of seconds, his breathing settles back to normal and he's able to open up his eyes, looking at the boy in front of him with a dazed expression. pete grins, overtly proud, and wipes his sticky hand on his t-shirt.<br/>
"happy valentine's day, sweetness", he teases. "looking forward to you returning the favour".<br/>
"jesus christ", mikey pulls his pants back up and covers his modesty. "one quickie in the back of your car, and suddenly you've got all the confidence of jesus at a pool party", he teases. </p><p>pete smiles and checks his watch, conscious of not staying out too late. mikey scoots over a little, lying flat and opening up his arms out, making grabby hands.<br/>
"pete, you've got time. come lay with me for a little bit. i promise i won't let you fall asleep".<br/>
"I'm not a good sleeper, anyway", pete admits, doing as mikey asked and settling into the boy's warmth. after a minute, he clears his throat and talks again. "hey, mikes?".<br/>
"mmm?".<br/>
"before, when you said actions speak louder than words? i think words are pretty important too", he whispers. "i like... wanna know everything about you. more than i already know. i wanna talk to you every single day about dumb shit like whether you prefer minty toothpaste or strawberry toothpaste, and i wanna be able to explore you and get to know your body better than i know my own. i really fucking like you, okay? promise me that nothing is gonna change".<br/>
"pete-".<br/>
"you've got no idea how to fall in love conventionally, so let's just... try and do it our own way. okay? because i really think we could".<br/>
"okay. that sounds good to me", mikey gives a bashful smile behind the boy's back, face blushing red hot. he may look relaxed, but the air-raid-siren confessions inside of his head become unreservedly raucous - and scariest of all, they become real.</p><p>really fucking real.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. tales from the joe trohman speakeasy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw// minor drug use, hate speech, violence</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>sneaking out of the window is not easy, and as mikey shimmies his skinny body down the drainpipe, he makes note to never doubt pete's obvious athleticism in reference to all the times he comes hopping through that window frame like it's nothing.</p><p>it's worth almost snagging his favourite smashing pumpkins t-shirt on the ivy trellis, though, because pete is stood at the end of the street waiting for him, leaning nonchalantly against a tree and looking like a fucking god. he pulls mikey into an elated kiss when he greets him. </p><p>"you won the game!". </p><p>it's not news. stuff like this spreads like wildfire in such a small town, the pique of everybody's excitement.<br/>
"we won the game! thanks to me, but the whole team deserve a bit of credit", pete jokes, linking their hands together as they set off walking in unison. his nails are painted again, blue and yellow colours that match his letterman jacket this time, to show school spirit. he's got a ring on almost every finger, and mikey swears that's eyeliner smudged haphazardly under his eyes. he snaps himself out of staring before he starts to uncontrollably drool.<br/>
"you didn't bring your car?".<br/>
"sneaking out to a party on a school night? no, mikes, i don't have my car. i didn't wanna make my absence obvious by moving the huge hunk of metal out of the driveway". </p><p>pete always manages to make mikey belly-laugh. he's clearly on an adrenaline high still, hyperactive from winning the game and enlivened by the cold air on his skin. mikey doesn't think to ask how long it took him to walk all the way here, or how far away joe's house is. when you spend this much time with pete, his abnormal behaviours just become regularity. </p><p>"so trohman's parents are cool and all but they're like, super strict, and he's gonna kill us all if this party turns into a rager tonight. it's just the team, and friends, but no friends of friends", pete begins, but then stops walking, pulling mikey abruptly into a kiss that's all teeth and smiles. "sorry. i didn't even say hi.".<br/>
"hi, quarterback", mikey kisses back. they're in public, but it's all still completely illicit under the darkness. it's whatever. at this point, nothing could make mikey turn down a kiss from pete.<br/>
"go forth with the ranting", he smiles. they take a left on hornblower and start walking uphill, and pete revs up again.<br/>
"yeah, so they'd literally skin joe alive if they knew he was throwing a party on a week day while they're out of town, but we won the game! this had to be done for the greater good!", he spouts on as if his words are gospel, and mikey hangs on to every single syllable. "they've got the most kickass house, seriously, part of their backyard is literally just woodlands - and they've got this fire pit, and a pool. it's too cold to swim, but it's still cool. it's a new build, too, so there's this whole basement that's just empty space and it's literally perfect to dance in".<br/>
"dancing? you gonna dance with me?", mikey asks, letting go of the boys' hand so he can do some awful but enthusiastic side stepping.<br/>
"oh, those moves are white hot, mikeyway. emphasis on white", pete raises an eyebrow. "i think it's more like...", he starts to dance alongside him, some terribly half-hearted crumping that has them both stopping dead in the tracks in order to try and catch their breaths.<br/>
"you're crazy, mikey way. you're off the walls".<br/>
"as are you. maybe we're the perfect match". </p><p>both boys ignore the fact that the latter statement has them blushing profusely. </p><p>"so we had this huge creative writing essay due today, fourth period, and i definitely failed", mikey says, swinging their arms as they stroll along. "what moment in my life did i find true happiness?".<br/>
"ah, yes. you're in perinio's english", pete gives a knowing nod. mikey furrows his eyebrows.<br/>
"you did this for him too?".<br/>
"please, i did it last year. it's like a belleville junior year right of passage. he lives for the existentialist drama".<br/>
"right, i'm the new kid, what do i know", the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. "it was really hard to define, i think. everybody who read theirs to the class had written about one specific thing or one particular person, but i don't... i don't know. there's nothing significant that i could pin point. i don't know if there's such thing as true happiness".<br/>
"oh, come on. you must be able to define your personal happiness. utter perfection like you, mikeyway. i bet happy things happen to you all the time", pete half flirts, but there's an air of seriousness to his tone. mikey drops his gaze to the floor, suddenly bashful. his skin burns hot, and he's hyper aware that he's blushing.<br/>
"i guess there's happiness in my life right now", he mumbles, earnest. "but i don't know. i just wrote some bullshit about going to disneyland with my mom". he laughs. that's not 'existential' enough of a life event, and he's never even been to disneyland. inspiration really didn't strike in time for this essay.  </p><p>now, though, challenged by pete's unfathomable intellect, innovation comes ringing. </p><p>"i'm just not sure if true happiness exists".<br/>
"i think it exists, but life is messy, and theatrical - just a fucking amalgamation of all things big and small, or good and bad. it's not possible to pick one moment and hold it above the rest", pete smirks, like he's proud of the articulated way his sentence flowed. "it definitely exists, though".<br/>
"god, can you rewrite my essay for me? your brain is a secret weapon for shit like this".<br/>
"stop teasing".<br/>
"i'm not teasing! i've read some of the things you write, and let's just say...", the boy drops pete's hand so that he can make an exaggerated 'mind blown' gesture. "amazing stuff, qb. who knew you were more than just a pretty face".</p><p>pete cocks his head to one side and laughs, sheer sarcasm. mikey goes back on himself.</p><p>"i did, actually", he says. "i knew you were more than just pretty. i mean, you're the quarterback, but you're also insanely smart. you read the odyssey for fun! who does that, you crazy person?". he's afraid he's taking the teasing too far, letting out a satisfied exhale when pete reciprocates.<br/>
"i'm the crazy one? you own two skateboards and you can't even skate". </p><p>smalltowns at night are a concept that is forever foreign to mikey. the roads are eerily silent, and every street lamp seems to be giving off a warm green hue. he's started to become accustomed to the odd beauty that comes along with the emptiness, appreciating how he can see the stars and hear the birds. a lone airplane drifts across the sky above them, leaving a chem trail on the navy sky behind it. mikey takes a few moments to remember that he's alive, and that he's here. he never thought he'd deserve (or enjoy) this kind of simplicity. he looks over at pete, who's got a permanent grin plastered across his face. he wonders if he ever thinks the same thing, or similar things. he wonders if he ever thinks about mikey the same way mikey thinks about him. 'i'm glad i have you' seems like a dumb thing to say, yet it's seconds away from slipping off of his tongue before pete thankfully interrupts. </p><p>"joe's is just around this corner. if you're lucky, i might even steal his guitar and play something for you tonight".<br/>
"you are so cliché, pete wentz", mikey finds it impossible to mask the endearment. "i love hearing you play. i've barely heard you play. when did you even get into music?".<br/>
"i was a choir boy til i realised i'm not a great singer. signed up for band when we first moved here, where i met joe. promptly realised they kick you out of band if you smoke weed in the rehearsal room, but i was crazy back in my day. a real firecracker, my dad would say".<br/>
"mhm", mikey entertains him. <br/>
"but i love it. my family are music-oriented as much as they're sports-oriented, so i always spend half my summer tutoring music in chicago, and the other half away at football camp with trohman".<br/>
"so it's famous quarterback, or famous bassist?", mikey says.<br/>
"yep, that or i get a law degree, but don't worry, mikey james, you can't get rid of me that easily", he says. that nickname is new, and it makes mikey smile. "i need a cheerleader either way, and i've seen how cute you look holding pom poms". </p><p>joe's house is utter suburban normalcy dressed up in yellow brick. it's boringly normal, despite its shocking size. it's also eerily silent.<br/>
"are you sure-", mikey goes to ask, but pete nods.<br/>
"wait for it", he says, tugging mikey away from the direction of the front door and leading him through another entrance, down some stairs. he knocks twice at the door. mikey makes note of how 'silence of the lambs' this is. it's okay, though - he can he hear music pulsing indoors, and when joe lets them in, the fifty or so people in the basement start cheering 'quarterback! quarterback! quarterback'. </p><p>mikey must look lost as pete gets ushered over to one corner of the basement by joe and a few other football players, because alicia approaches him and links their arms together.<br/>
"welcome to the joe trohman speakeasy", she teases, gesturing at the room filled with music, smoke and oddly nice furniture. "they stole pete right out from under you. downside of dating the belleville buccaneer's trophy boy".<br/>
"we're not-", he cuts himself off. correcting her is pointless. every second mikey doesn't spend with pete is spent thinking about him, or talking about him, and it'd be insane to deny they're not practically an old married couple at this point. he actually finds the idea of curling up on the sofa with a coffee while pete reads a book beside him very appealing. it makes him warm. "where's jam?".<br/>
"her mom needed help clearing the garage, so she's probably not gonna be here til later".<br/>
"sucky", mikey agrees, then looks over at pete, who's helping somebody tap a keg. "you wanna dance?".</p><p>so they do dance, in a way that involves far too much grinding and gets them far too much attention. he's sure that they're looking at alicia, though. her eyeshadow is smudged to perfection, her skinny jeans slung low, and her top is so tight that even mikey can't help staring. of course they're watching her, they're positively ravenous as she loops her arrms around mikey's neck, whispering stupid little things to him while he whispers them back, incapable of taking themselves seriously when they're having this much fun. then mikey notices one of the guys, a normal looking guy with blonde hair and a tan, is looking directly at him. </p><p>he swallow, and averts his eyes.</p><p>so, he's piqued some random guys' curiosity. it's thrilling - it's always a rush to know you're desired, and if he were back in the city, this would be the part where he would grind his hips more and pout his lips harder and then spend the next twenty minutes getting his world rocked. that thrill is something he never considered he would ever stop seeking, but he couldn't give less of a shit about the strangers gaze. he can only think about pete. pete, pete, pete, and how he's having fun with alicia but he wishes he were dancing with pete instead. there's no tension with alicia, not anymore. he closes his eyes, imagining the tension there would be if it was his quarterback pressed up against him, breath hot on his neck.</p><p>then he has to open his eyes and turn off his thoughts, cooling himself down before he embarrasses himself.</p><p>the pair dance for another three songs before they're too breathless to continue. that's when alicia notices that a smoke circle has started, and she decides it's time to dip.<br/>
"okay, i'm gonna go call jamia so i don't have to be around a bunch of stoned dumbasses", she declares right as pete walks past and grabs mikey's waist.<br/>
"well aren't you the pinnacle of maturity, goth princess?".<br/>
"sure am, golden boy", she fires back. mikey isn't sure their relationship goes barely beyond 'mutual friends', but the insults seem endearing enough.<br/>
"you gonna come be a stoned idiot with me, mikeyway?".</p><p>pete confidently joins the circle, pulling mikey down into the spot beside him on the surprisingly expensive sofa. they're basically sat on top of each other, and pete's hand is on mikey's thigh, but this particular corner of the room is too intoxicated to notice. one of the people talking starts detailing how belleville might be getting a mall, his voice slurred, and mikey can't help but chime in.</p><p>"malls as in, 'everywhere else got them in the 80s and this town is just too backwards to follow the passage of time' malls?", he says. pete snorts. the wasted idiots laugh like mikey wasn't one hundred percent serious.<br/>
"you're funny, new kid", the guy talking says, passing the bong over to mikey, who takes the worlds smallest hit and still splutters as he passes it to pete. the older boy takes a large rip, effortless. mikey's jaw practically drops to the floor.<br/>
"impressive", he says.<br/>
"unsurprising", someone else adds, shooting pete a nasty look. it feels aggressive, but mikey has no idea what the context is, so he brushes it off, despite feeling pete's hand grip tighter around his leg.<br/>
"if we get a mall i'm totally applying for a job in the food court, man". <br/>
"i hope they tear down all of van houten to build it, that street is ugly. my dad calls it immigrant city", the same guy says, laughing. everybody goes silent, the tension rising dramatically like this is an action movie.</p><p>pete is already leaping out of his seat before mikey can piece together that holy fuck, this guy is racist, and holy FUCK, pete lives on van houten. </p><p>by the time he processes what is happening, the pair are already rolling around on the floor and screaming insults into each other's faces. mikey's never seen pete angry, not like this, and he's so shocked that he freezes up. </p><p>joe and two of his friend run over, shoving past the crowd that has formed around pete, who has the other guy pinned to the ground now. mikey watches in horror as he grabs the scruff of his shirt and slams his head straight into the ground, which causes him to be met with a swift punch to the jaw. even alicia has come back indoors for this, and is holding mikey's hand as they watch helplessly. the guys manage to separate them before any real damage is done, and joe drags pete off to the opposite corner of the room. mikey gives alicias hand an anxious squeeze and follows them.<br/>
"pete, you stupid bitch, what the fuck were you thinking?!", joe flaps his hands, voice audibly panicked. "you could've cracked his fucking skull, dude!".<br/>
"what, like he tried to crack my jaw?", pete has his fists clenched, a wildly violent look in his eyes. he's the sweat-soaked embodiment of pure rage. "he's racist, joe. he... fuck. he fucking said something about how only immigrants live on van houten and i just-".<br/>
"shit, for real?", joe looks at mikey, who nods in confirmation. "i'll get him the fuck out of my house, okay? mikey can you take pete upstairs and calm him down, dude?".<br/>
"yeah, sure thing", mikey stutters, still utterly bewildered.</p><p>his head is almost spinning too much to follow pete out of the basement.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. the scam of true happiness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw // nsfw</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>mikey is hyper aware that pete had every intention of beating that guy to a pulp right there on joe's basement floor. he's also fully aware that he could've done the intended damage if he hadn't have been pulled away. for some reason, this doesn't make mikey afraid of pete. </p>
<p>"that dude is an asshole. he deserved it, i swear". <br/>"that dude is dylan chandler, and he's a fucking racist, mikey", pete shakes his head, giving him the cold shoulder. "i don't want to talk about him".  </p>
<p>they're in joe's bedroom, which is charmingly<br/>clean but painted a nauseatingly vibrant orange. a bedside lamp that had been left turned on is their only source of light, as neither of them bothered to flick the lights on at the switch when they walked in and shut the door behind them.</p>
<p>"pete, come on", mikey reaches out, hurt when pete pulls away from him. <br/>"i don't wanna talk". <br/>"i know, baby", mikey nods, voice low like he's trying not to spook a horse. "come here". he sits on joe's bed, not caring that it's an invasion of privacy, and pete sits across from him, their folded knees touching. <br/>"you're beautiful, pete wentz", he whispers, barely even audible. there's hardly any noise apart from the odd car passing, and there's no way they can hear anything coming from the basement two floors down. </p>
<p>pete is gorgeous, though. really. mikey traces a hand down his face, to his jaw, right where he got punched. he keeps his fingertips light as they trace the red mark. <br/>"if it bruises, i'm gonna get into so much shit with my dad".<br/>"still beautiful". <br/>"i bet you say that to all the boys", pete laughs a little. then, all of a sudden, he leans in to catch mikey's lips between his own, and the kiss is hot and feverish. when he feels pete's hands gripping the hem of his shirt, mikey reluctantly pulls back. </p>
<p>"what are we doing?".<br/>"i want you, mikeyway", his eyes spark with desperation and curiosity. "i wanna do you, actually". <br/>"here?!", he glances around. joe's bedroom after a physical altercation with a racist isnt exactly what mikey had in mind when pete had ranted about 'the right time and place'. <br/>"you care about me, mikes. you don't look down on me because i'm different, you don't give a fuck about all the things that other people here do...", he doesn't say 'my race' or 'my skin colour', but the implication is strong. "before you turned up here, i was going through some 'hating myself and everything about me' kind of shit. i didn't think i'd ever even admit i was attracted to... to guys. but i saw you standing there looking so angelic, and i just thought... fuck it. so that's what i'm doing".<br/>"i do give a fuck about you like that, by the way", mikey let's out an awkward laugh. "that part of your life, i mean. i'm asking your mom for photos of you as a choir boy when i come over".<br/>"fine, fine" pete rolls his eyes, but theres adoration in his expression. </p>
<p>the pair kiss again, and mikey's stomach is fluttering: he's been dying to chase this thrill again for far too long. this is his profession. the excitement of undressing for the eyes of somebody else, having their gaze burn red hot into your bare skin. the awkwardness that follows when looking for some form of contraception (which pete has to dig through joe's desk to find, then laughs loudly as he exclaims 'joe's a virgin'). there's nothing mikey loves more than this intimacy. when pete lays him down, he goes easy, almost as easy as it is for him to start packing heat down south. pete is hovering over him when he pulls him in close.<br/>"so", mikey says, blissed out a little. <br/>"mikey...", pete trails off. <br/>"don't say anything that a dumbass would say". </p>
<p>there's only an inch between their mouths. mikey can feel pete's breath hot against his neck, and all the excitement is rushing south. </p>
<p>"what if i do it wrong?", pete asks, and mikey almost laughs, shaking his head. <br/>"you won't". </p>
<p>then suddenly there's no gap between them, because they're kissing again. </p>
<p>there's a shock of electric down mikey's spine because he knows what's coming, or who's coming. one of his hands is gently placed on pete's cheek, the other at the base of his spine as to pull him in closer when he gives him the nod and says, "you wanna get ready to like-".</p>
<p>pete doesn't really look like himself at this current moment. he isn't just mikey's friend, he isn't the quarterback of the football team, he isn't a broody musician. the lamplight is illuminating his every facial feature just divinely. his stupid perfect hair is falling into his stupid perfect face but mikey can still see those big, soulful eyes through the dreads. <br/>"perfect", mikey whispers that adjective, the only way he can seem to define pete's radiance, out loud. pete gives a beyond dorky look, rolling on the condom. <br/>"huh?".<br/>"you're cute, petey. you need to find some lube, but you're cute". <br/>"joe trohman definitely doesn't own any fucking lube", pete says. mikey looks around, spotting a bottle of lotion that has been placed ceremoniously on joe's night stand. he shudders at the thought of why it's there, and then tosses it at pete. <br/>"if it's good enough for him", he shrugs. "it'll work. condoms do, like... to an extent, but it's gonna hurt a hell of a lot less if you use the lotion too, just trust me". <br/>"it's gonna hurt?".<br/>"well, you didn't prep me". </p>
<p>they stare at each other for a few seconds, and mikey burst out laughing at pete's mortified expression. <br/>"pete, it's okay. i know what i can handle". <br/>"yeah?", pete finishes what he's doing, and leans in close, kissing the spot underneath mikey's earlobe. mikey's legs spread wider, letting pete move between them. "and you can handle this?". </p>
<p>mikey is about to comment on how good it feels having pete's lips this close to his neck, teasing relentlessly. he doesn't get the chance to finish his thought, though, because pete is pushing inside of him with a disheveled grunt, and it burns because of the lack of preparation, but that's exactly how mikey likes it. giving mikey a few seconds to adjust before he starts thrusting. he doesn't quite know what he's doing, but his body takes over and puts his brain on autopilot, just like when he's playing football. </p>
<p>everything in mikey's life is kind of bullshit except from pete right now, and so this seems to be the perfect thing to put himself into. or put into himself. </p>
<p>they stay locked together, pretty much convinced that they're the only two people on the planet, as pete thrusts and thrusts like he's trying to win some kind of marathon. and sure, it feels okay, but mikey's always been a seeker of pleasure, so he makes the first bit of conversation. <br/>"you feel good, baby", his tone is reassuring, and he sees pete smile as they lock eyes. "if you go slower-". <br/>"slower?".<br/>"like", mikey's hands rest on pete's hips and slow their movement to the point where it's almost unbearable. pete groans, at first desperate to fuck mikey hard and fast again,  but then he gets it. mikey lets out a trembly  noise, his eyes rolling back as he moves to the rhythm of pete's hips, and pete almost orgasms purely from seeing mikey's contentment. </p>
<p>"you're doing so good", mikey starts placing little kisses of reassurance on pete's neck. he's not just lying to up pete's confidence. he's genuinely almost forgotten how to breathe because in that moment all he knows is pete, pete's hips, pete's body on his. <br/>"you're so... tight", pete whispers, and then mikey realises thats an opportunity for dirty talk, and so he jumps at the chance. if there's one thing mikey way is good at, it's explaining what he likes and how he likes it. <br/>"you feel so big", mikey moans, biting his lip, purposefully playing up for the sole reason of wanting to make pete implode. "deeper - like that. i've never been fucked like this before". </p>
<p>and if "like this" means "by someone who actually cares about me", mikey's not just lying for the sake of putting on a show. </p>
<p>pete has found a special spot that is making mikey writhe around with rapture, and the most beautiful sounds are tumbling out of his mouth, punctuating tiny little begs of "right there" and "please don't stop". pete's not sure how he even did this, but he's glad he did. he knows the noises mikey is making will replay on his head for weeks after this, and infiltrate his every thought. </p>
<p>a few seconds pass and then mikey flips them over. he wants to ride. he's straddling a blissed out pete, gripping onto his left arm and and using his free hand to tug at himself eagerly. every time mikey bounces up and lowers himself back down, pete meets him with a careless thrust upwards. this is it. this is their rhythm. <br/>"kiss me", mikey either begs or demands, feeling pete's mouth crash against his either way. he wraps his arms around the shorter boy's shoulders. </p>
<p>pete thinks mikey might be exaggerating the intensity of how he flicks his hair out of his face and gasps at every thrust, but he likes it anyway. mikey is usually so quiet, but in the throes of passion he's a constant cacophony of "pete, fuck, oh my god", and pete loves it. he craves it. </p>
<p>mikey is an unscrambled mess now, hardly able to form a coherent sentence, and pete realises they're definitely going to finish at the same time, which is actually kind of a feat for him considering he's a virgin. <br/>"come here", he reaches up and runs a hand through mikey's dirty-blond hair. "you're so beautiful". </p>
<p>when pete says this, mikey becomes exceptionally more responsive, clenching every muscle in his body as pete lets out wanton, frustrated moans. <br/>"mikes-", he doesn't get to finish asking, because he's coming loudly and with his entire body.</p>
<p>god, his moans. his moans and his grunts and his fucking whimpers are all so innocent, all so desperate. mikey wants to replay those noises on repeat forever. a couple of seconds later, almost as completely untouched, he's just as spent as pete.  </p>
<p>he loves him. he loves pete's body: his calloused fingers; the veins in his hands; the way he feels safe wrapped in his arms; his thighs, soft and comfortable, beneath mikey. the two of them stay in their position for a little while longer, panting, kissing like it's the last time they'll ever kiss. </p>
<p>then comes the feeling of emptiness, caused by pete who was trying to be practical and clean up as best as possible. </p>
<p>mikey refuses to let him put his clothes back on. the two curl up on top of the duvet, mikey's legs shaking lightly from the comedown. he just wants to plant little kisses all over pete's body. to look after him. </p>
<p>pete's got a new sparkle in his eye, less lustful and more contemplative. he feels different, and he's excited by that. he's downright hyperactive, actually - all giggly and hot. he's drawing imaginary shapes on mikey's arm with his pointer finger when he gets the genius idea to grab something from inside of the bedside cabinet. <br/>"what are you doing?", the younger boy asks, trying to see. pete smiles as he unveils a sharpie pen. <br/>"found one! just hold still", pete whispers, attacking mikey's left arm with the marker. mikey makes a sarcastic comment about how he's 'graduated from shoe graffiti onto this', but pete just shushes him. </p>
<p>easy. </p>
<p>that's what his arm says. mikey lets out a laugh loud enough for the whole house to hear him. <br/>"are you broadcasting to the whole world that i'm an easy lay?". <br/>"maybe i am, way. is your middle name 'all the', by any chance?".<br/>"you're lucky i-", mikey stops himself. "you're lucky you're so cool". <br/>"what were you about to say?".<br/>"nothing". <br/>"because if you were gonna say what i think you were, then its... that's fine. because i love you too, you know...", pete blurts out, curling into his warmth. "i think i've loved you since i first saw you, actually. is that okay?". <br/>"since you first saw me? at the party?", mikey whispers into the darkness, and he can feel pete smile against his neck, punctuated with a soft laugh. <br/>"before that. we walked into each other on your first day of school - i don't think you even remember. i was late for algebra and you were talking to frank, and we just...".<br/>"i walked into you", mikey feels himself go scarlet. <br/>"you looked like some kind of disney prince with your hair like that", pete runs a hand through his hair now, and though it's tangled and flat and nowhere near as pretty as it normally is, he doesn't seem to mind. "you were carrying that dumb messenger bag - i knew i had to meet you. really meet you. i usually have to think to myself, 'pete, love won't save you', but this time i think loving you might be a possibility".  </p>
<p>mikey is intoxicated, not just by sex, but by sex with pete wentz. he loves him too. he loves pete: his calloused fingers; the veins in his hands; the way he feels safe wrapped in his arms; the way there's never any judgement or fear around him, and it's euphoric to know there's always going to be pete wentz, as soulmates, best friends, or ex friends. they're forever in whatever context. mikey's never considered the definition of love before tonight, but he realises he now knows. </p>
<p>"i think loving you back might also be a possibility", he cracks a smile, and that's perfectly enough for pete.</p>
<p>maybe this is true happiness, as pete had explained it. for a second, mikey thinks he's finally got something intoxicating and important enough to hold higher than all his other memories, because he's got pete. pete trusts him enough to be vulnerable around him, to be naked around him. they're teenagers in love, high on adrenaline. </p>
<p>it lasts for about five minutes, before the universe works to brutally tear away mikey's first chance at contentment in months, maybe years if he overthinks, which he definitely will. it comes in the form of footsteps, and then bodies tensing at the realisation they've spent too long in post-coital entanglement. </p>
<p>pete leaps up first, then mikey, both frantically throwing their clothes back on as joe's voice sounds out from the top of the stairs. they're moving at a comically fast pace, but there's nothing funny about this. theres morning funny about getting caught half dressed and sweaty with the bedsheets all crumbled behind them.</p>
<p>joe's jaw practically drops to the floor, and mikey can feel his throat close up, threats of a panic attack on the horizon as he realises there are two other people stood behind joe, and they're all getting a full view of the show. </p>
<p>"you guys had sex in my room?", joe sounds way too calm about the situation, albeit kind of grossed out about the scene his stuffed animals may have just witnessed. mikey debates asking the ground to swallow him right there and then. </p>
<p>he was right - true happiness is a scam. happiness doesn't last. happiness is bullshit.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. love me, love me, say that you love me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw // violence, alcohol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>as harrowing as joe walking in on him and pete was, the events that follow are ones which will probably shake mikey to his core for years to follow. there's a definitive chance that 'bad decisions' might by mikey way's middle name - if it is, he still likes it a hell of a let better than 'james'.</p>
<p>his first bad decision is pounding four consecutive shots and then swiping a mini bottle of tequila before leaving the party in a panic. he doesn't even look for alicia, or bother talking it out with pete or joe, he just grabs his shirt and leaves as quickly as possible, face flushed red hot for at least twenty minutes as he stumbles through the suburbs. the second bad decision was drinking the entire bottle of liquor on his way, because it takes twice as long to get home and means that he bursts through the front door in a particularly flamboyant fashion, reeking of disappointment. </p>
<p>going home is the third bad decision, actually. </p>
<p>he makes the wise decision of hiding the empty tequila bottle in the hedge when he realises that the lights are still on, and enters the house to find his dad sat at the dining table. unfortunately, he's sporting the angriest expression he seems capable of. gerard is there too, propped up against the wall in the archway, ready to instigate drama. he actually looks delighted over their dad's rage. </p>
<p>"hey, i-", mikey tries to think fast and come up with an excuse. apparently he thinks too fast, because he gets inexplicably disoriented and stumbles into the coatrack. <br/>"mikey james way, are you kidding me? sneaking out on a school night and coming home drunk", he buries his face into his hands and breathes for a few suspenseful seconds. "i thought i'd have raised you better than this". mikey closes the door behind him, a loud giggle rippling through his body. <br/>"you didn't fucking raise me", he says, emitting a round of laughter so out of place that it's almost harrowing. he means to sound vicious with the insult, but he doesn't execute it well through semi slurred speech. </p>
<p>gerard laughs too, but instead of matching mikey's unravelled nature, it comes out as a scoff. and maybe that was gerard's bad decision, because it triggers something dark in mikey. it suddenly dawns on him that gerard is the favourite child, and that's nothing short of mind boggling. when they were one big family unit, mikey was mommy's little angel, and he could get away with murder while gerard got punished. mikey knows gerard still holds that over him, like he wants him to go back in time and change how much of an asshole he was in elementary school. it was a no brainer when gerard took their dad's side in the split. </p>
<p>"and what the fuck are you laughing at, gee?", mikey turns with the intention of starting an argument, but his dad gets out of his seat and steps into his way. <br/>"this leeway i've been giving you ends now, mikey. the settling period is over. i demand the same amount of respect and truth from you that i get from your brother". his tone doesn't falter, stricter than mikey remembers. "i know i've not made a lot of time to bond with you since you moved in, but that doesn't mean you can lash out like this and-".<br/>"he's just like mom", gerard looks at his brother, swaying and misty eyed, his face pure disgust. "look at you".<br/>"gerard, that's enough".<br/>"no, dad, it isn't", gerard steps round him, right in mikey's personal space. "mikes, what gives? you can't just waltz in here and keep living like you're a gogo boy - seriously, is that a hickey on your neck? you're seventeen, you can't act like this. maybe this shit would swing with mom, but dad has done nothing to warrant hurricane mikey". <br/>"oh please, you think you're so perfect because you're daddy's little angel? you sneak out too. you have sex too. does daddy know you're screwing everyone under the sun? and don't even get me started on your little weed habit. you're not a fucking saint", mikey rolls his eyes, pushing past the pair to get into the kitchen where he pours himself the world's largest glass of water. he really isn't in the right headspace for this confrontation. his dad notices this, and cools off slightly. <br/>"we can talk in the morning", he calls out. "but i'm not taking this behaviour anymore, mikey. i mean it, we talk about everything from now on. i don't want any surprises". </p>
<p>and suddenly comes the next bad decision, possibly the worst of the bunch. intoxicated and traumatised from the night's events, mikey snaps. the cogs in his brain that are turning steadily to keep him coherent seem to speed up, and he loses grip of sanity.  <br/>"we talk about everything? that's a rule now? well then, dad, i'm sure you'd love to know that someone walked in on me having sex tonight". <br/>"dude".<br/>"with pete wentz, which is a guys name, in case you're a little slow. talk about kicking me when i'm down. surprise! you've got a queer in the family!". <br/>"mikey-".<br/>"mikey, shut up". gerard's harshness cuts deep. mikey looks at him, smirking, and they share a knowing look. "mikey, please don't". </p>
<p>this is his chance to prove that he's not. vindictive asshole who hurts the people he loves. this is the perfect opportunity to stop being so destructive. </p>
<p>kindheartedness does not prevail. </p>
<p>"actually, there's two queers", mikey disregards his brother's pleas, but regrets sharing the information as soon as it leaves his lips. still, there's satisfaction seeing his brother cry, more so than seeing shock spread across their father's face. he's in too deep now, so he ought to just keep self destructing. "i'd say gerard nailing my best friend in the basement every night is a little more of a secret than me liking the way a guy smiles. i think he was my true happiness, actually, but it doesn't matter now". </p>
<p>the atmosphere in the house is suddenly grossly tense, and all three of them stand in a devastated silence for far too long, caught in fight or flight mode. while their father stays frozen with his mouth agape, gerard picks 'flight' and leaves the room with tears flooding melodramatically down his face. for lack of better judgement in his manic state, mikey makes things worse by choosing 'fight' and following him. </p>
<p>"can't handle the fact that you're just as much of a black sheep as i am, big brother?", he condescends. gerard whips around and waves an accusatory finger. <br/>"you and mom are really alike, you know? just hypersexual animals who'll fuck anything that looks their way and drink anything that they get given for the slightest boost of self confidence". gerard. "you left me for that woman, and now you're a wild animal just like her". <br/>"yeah, you're right, but at least i know i'm a piece of shit. you put yourself on a pedestal because you picked the good parent but you're still just as dysfunctional as i am". the part about hyper-sexuality had stung like salt in an open wound, a twisted justification for the next sentence mikey produces. "our frankie sure knows how to take cock, doesn't he? he definitely knew his way around mine". </p>
<p>bad decision. so many bad decisions, and so little capability to stop himself from making them. </p>
<p>"why would you say that?". <br/>"because it's true. isn't that what we're doing here? we're telling the truth? maybe next, dad can tell the truth about why he split up the family". <br/>"hey, that's enough!", their dad appears to be in shock. he probably thought he'd left all this drama behind in the divorce. <br/>"you're so fucking mikey that it makes my brain rot!", gerard's voice quavers, fists clenched.<br/>"yeah, i am", the younger boy slaps his brother across the face for the first time in his life, the contact surprisingly sharp. "i'm mikey fucking way". </p>
<p>then, right before their dad steps in and breaks them up for good, mikey is getting punched in the face with such impact that he can taste the blood before it even starts dripping out of his nose. </p>
<p>"have you ever stopped to think that you left me, and not the other way around?", mikey whispers from where he has sunken to the ground, nonsensical and throaty, but gerard can't bring himself to care. he shakes his head, unable to talk, and then walks away. </p>
<p>this time, mikey stays put, and the second the sound of the basement door slamming echoes through the house, he erupts. </p>
<p>it's the kind of crying where you dry heave and choke on your tears, and feel like your head is about to burst. his dad gets an ice pack<br/>from the kitchen freezer and sits on the floor beside him, icing his nose for a few minutes while rocking him in his arms and soothing him like he's a startled wild animal. </p>
<p>"is it broken?".<br/>"no, mikes", his dad places a chaste kiss to the top of his head. "gerard's not the best fighter, i think you're good". it's odd considering the context, but they both laugh. <br/>"dad, i-". <br/>"we'll talk this over tomorrow, mikey" he cuts him off with a deep sigh. "just go to bed. i have to check on your brother too, so just... go. sleep. i'll figure something out". he sounds understandingly bewildered, but there's promising optimism in his voice that mikey decides to hold onto. </p>
<p>he calls pete from bed that night, to ask if he got home safe. pete makes a little 'mhmm' noise and then they both fall silent. </p>
<p>then, after a minute, pete speaks again. <br/>"are you like, okay?". <br/>"no", mikey says. "i just... i think i just wanted to say goodnight, and that i really fucking like you, or whatever".<br/>"or whatever?", he can feel pete's grin through the phone. <br/>"yeah, dude", mikey sniffles. <br/>"are you crying, mikeyway?". <br/>"fuck. i don't know, can we-", he lowers his voice just in case his dad is lurking. "can we ditch tomorrow?". </p>
<p>pete thinks for a minute, then sighs. </p>
<p>"meet me out front after home room", he says.<br/>"but what if people are talking". <br/>"you can handle home room, mikes", pete reassures him. <br/>"okay", mikey gives in. "okay, fine".<br/>"goodnight, sweetness". <br/>"goodnight, pete. i love you". </p>
<p>it's only when he hangs up that he realises he's made his final bad decision of the night. </p>
<p>"i love you?", he groans into the darkness. "oh my god, you fucking loser".</p>
<p>and out of all the people he's been fucked over by tonight, he still manages to be his own worst enemy.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. fool me, fool me, oh how you do me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw // slight discussion  of nsfw</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>mikey's not in the habit of blurting out love confessions. he's never said "i love you" romantically and meant it, not in his entire life. it's a word tinged with confusion. a word that is cursed, that surely marks some kind of seriousness that he's not willing to conform nor commit to. he can't. </p><p>yes, pete had said it first, but mikey had assumed that he would probably let it slip in a moment of post coital clarity. when he lost his virginity, he thought he was in love too. pete probably doesn't even mean it. that's why he didn't say it back. by leaving it as 'loving you may be a strong possibility', which was the truth, they're still dancing on that thinly veiled line between romantic and platonic, the line mikey has been walking since he was old enough to flirt. a lack of commitment is like the safety net for this tightrope act, and returning a statement so powerful is not exactly noncommittal. </p><p>so, he tells himself that pete has probably forgotten all about last night's adrenaline-induced spontaneity over the phone, and tells himself this is still a stringless situation. he can feel that he loves pete, and hint at it, but he can't say it. </p><p>as always, mikey is unfathomably confused by his own feelings.</p><p>he hopes that he can show his affection through action, like feeling secure enough to lay in pete's arms, detailing the shenanigans of the night before, verbatim, without feeling judged. and dear god, how magical is it to be loved by pete wentz.</p><p>pete, who is attentive to every part of mikey's body: his legs that slope inwards, the childhood scar above his left knee, the tightness in his right shoulder. </p><p>he feels like a normal person for the first time in a while, skipping school to roll around in mikey's bed, stripped of their jeans and shirts and enthralled in their own world; pete leaves kisses all over mikey's slender thighs, traces the scar while he listens to the story of how it came to be, and rubs the stress knot out of his shoulder. </p><p>he fucks him, too, without needing instruction this time. it's messy, inexperienced and arrhythmic, but the tempo is glorious. merciless. they're bathed in the sunlight that is creeping through the curtains, and it's just so torturously wonderful. almost too good to be true. </p><p>and afterwards, when mikey is sweaty and can't find a steady pattern of breath, pete collapses beside him and pulls him in close, tracing the sharpie on his arm, a gently faded relic of the night before. </p><p>'easy'. </p><p>"you're getting good at that", mikey is still gasping for air slightly when he speaks. <br/>"you're implying i'm not already the best?", pete laughs, and mikey jabs him with an elbow. <br/>"asshole. how are you so full of energy right now?!". <br/>"because i'm an adhd nightmare". </p><p>for the first time in his life, mikey cares about making the other person feel good. he's not well versed in the art of aftercare, not when his idea of a post-sex routine is zipping his jeans back up and leaving as quick as he can, but he gets sentimental over the idea of caring for pete's needs. now mikey is only shrugging his clothes back on so that he can go get pete a glass of water from downstairs. it's not the grandest gesture ever, but contextually he hopes it means a lot. </p><p>when he gets back to his bedroom, smiling ear to ear, pete is kneeling on the bed wearing a stolen hoodie that pools around him comically. the sleeves are inches longer than where his hands stop, and he looks perfect. even with the bruise around his eye that mikey secretly thinks makes him look rugged and sexy. </p><p>"we need to talk, mikeyway", he says, and the sweetness turns sour. mikey gives him a knowing frown. <br/>"we agreed. this is just a friendship with a few benefits", he says, to which pete scoffs. <br/>"jesus, i'm supposed to be the borderline bipolar one here". </p><p>pete takes mikey's hands in his own, gently pulling him down beside him. </p><p>"when i look at you, i see beauty in the purest form, but i also see someone who's timid and lost, and afraid of being himself", he sighs. "i started this thing with you when i didn't even know if i liked guys, and you were just a friend helping me out with that, no strings attached. that's changed, mikes, and you know it has". <br/>"it can't", mikey's voice is desperate. <br/>"you're gonna hide yourself away just because there's a few homophobes here? there were idiots like that back in the city too, mikes. they're everywhere. the difference is you. you didn't have to erase your pride when you came here to start over".</p><p>mikey isn't good at explaining himself, but pete makes it easy, running a hand over his thigh and nodding every time he finishes a sentence. "it was easier being out in the city", mikey says. "i didn't have to care what dumb people thought because the person i am when i'm there isn't really me. he's an exaggerated version of me, and i love him because i don't have to accept him or care what other people think about him. i knew that i could always put on my tightest shirt head down to the local bar and pick up anyone i wanted if i started overthinking my life, or like... uhh...".<br/>"your lifestyle choices?".<br/>"you sound like a therapist", mikey laughs, though tears have just started to pool in his tear ducts. "but yeah. i don't have the security blanket of random hookups with people who don't care about me anymore. i've got you, and i've never had a pete wentz before. you make me feel things. you make me think about my life and who i am, and i hate it. i'm sorry. it's just so fucking scary".  </p><p>then he's done, and there's catharsis that doesn't last long enough at all. where he's expecting pete to embrace him, call him 'sweetness' and tell him everything is okay, pete's response is uncharacteristically cold and bitter. </p><p>"look around, mikey - look at me. my family are not the same as everyone else in belleville. i have it pretty easy because i'm qb, or maybe because my family are well-off, but not everyone around here likes the colour of our skin. you saw how i got this black eye, didn't you?", he gestures to his face when he spits out this rhetoric. "so what? it's not something i'm gonna repress. i wear my dreads, i'm loud, i go to gospel church. i don't want to stifle that part of me the same way you pretend to be this socialite city boy who doesn't know how to love". </p><p>mikey bites down at his lip, hard. it hurts, and he tastes the metallic taste of his own blood before he has the willpower to stop. <br/>"please don't be mad at me", he whispers. "i know how to love, i do i just.... i can't. i can't handle you being mad at me too". </p><p>that's when pete realises how broken the shell of the boy sitting in front of him is, and how warped his perception of the universe is. </p><p>he kisses him, deep and long, and wipes the stray tears from his cheeks. <br/>"i'm not mad at you, mikeyway. never", he says, and the pair collapse into a hug. "i'm mad at joe. i'm mad at gerard, too, actually".<br/>"well don't tell him that, because i know he's an art student with skinny ankles but he could totally take you in a fight", mikey sniffles and laughs at the same time. it should be gross, but pete doesn't mind. <br/>"my dad's driving to chicago to make a big delivery at the start of spring break. i think i'm gonna tag along", he says, staring straight ahead. "figured i'd stay a while. maybe for the whole two weeks. andy can just give me a ride back before school starts".</p><p>then mikey realised he doesn't have anything else to say. he's worn out, mentally and physically, but this still beats turning up to school and having the entire population of the junior and senior year point and whisper. he's no stranger to the way gossip spreads like wildfire. </p><p>"is that okay?". <br/>"yeah. gives us some time to think", mikey nods. "smart". <br/>"well, smart is my middle name. not lewis or kingston like i've lead you to believe". <br/>"pete, do you still love me?", mikey asks, sudden but earnest. "i can't say it back. i want to, but my life is too fucked up to even think about understanding my own feelings right now". <br/>"mikes, shut up. of course i love you. i'm not mad at you". </p><p>mikey comes to the conclusion that maybe life post-blowup isn't going to be all that bad after all.  </p><p>he skips school the day after that too, which is significantly more awkward because gerard is home, and makes his younger brother well aware of how angry he is with him, calling him an insensitive brat who 'doesn't give a shit about bonding with dad even though he tries his hardest to be there for a son who wanted nothing to do with him until it was convenient'. </p><p>mikey decides to leave the house that day and plays hooky elsewhere, traipsing to a nearby playground that looks like it hasn't been touched in years. he sits on top of the metal slide and watches people walk in and out of the laundromat across the street. there's a dark grey cloud threatening to bring rain but he ignores it, twiddling his thumbs instead. he hasn't got any cigarettes left, so there's nothing much else he can do with his hands. not many ways to distract himself either, because pete couldn't miss practice today, jamia is awol, alicia isn't very relaxing company and frank is probably mad at him too. </p><p>he turns his attention to the corner store, wondering if he can coerce some grandma into buying him a pack. he decides against it, because small town elderly people probably aren't in the business of fuelling teenage nicotine dependency. </p><p>if he had cash, he'd grab the train into the city and check into reggie's records for the day, or keep an eye out to see if his mom is home yet. </p><p>he doesn't have cash, though, so he just sits, hoping to decompose and become a part of the moss that is slowly wrapping its way up the aged playground equipment. </p><p>when he finally walks home that afternoon, he immediately sprints to the kitchen and grabs his dad into a hug. out of the handful of times they've embraced, this time is by far the most meaningful. <br/>"i'm sorry", mikey says. "i'm sorry for being a bad son".<br/>"oh, mikes", his dad seems shocked, dropping the grocery bags that he was about to unload so that he can hug his son tightly. "you're not a bad son, kiddo. you're just... becoming a man. sometimes growing up makes you an asshole".  <br/>mikey laughs and says, "nice puberty talk, five years too late". then his face falls, and he whispers. "i love you, dad, i'm so, so sorry. i'm fucked up. i miss mom". <br/>"sometimes i wish your mom were here too, kid".</p><p>that in itself is kind of a revelation.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. pregnant pause</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw // references to pregnancy and / or abortions</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>since the smoke cleared and tensions slowed to a simmer, life has come to a staggering halt. </p><p>it's a quarter to midnight when jamia and alicia burst into the corner store, the place that frank has decided to take the graveyard shift in over spring break. the whole place is dimly lit with a green hue at this time of night, and there's nobody wandering the small aisles. mikey is there keeping him company, because home life is sort of hellish with gerard freezing him out still, and this is a perfect opportunity to buy a packet of much needed cigarettes without any identification. frank even lets him grab a drink from the refrigerator, free of charge, as a peace offering to prove there's no bad blood between them (despite him being thrown into the middle of a brotherly feud). </p><p>"what's up, douchebags", alicia wraps her arms around mikey, and takes a swig from his gatorade. jamia skips over to the counter and kisses frank hello. <br/>"classy, alicia", she says. "hi, males". <br/>"hi, females", frank shows them his lanyard. "i am officially capitalism's bitch".<br/>"well, corpse hollow wasn't booking anything",<br/>she jokes, and is immediately met with one of frank's passionate rants about how music is his calling, which she recites back to him, having heard it verbatim several hundred times by now. </p><p>"i hate you", he says, and fiddles with the cash register, absent minded. she flashes a sarcastic smile and turns her attention to mikey, pecking little kisses all over his face. <br/>"and where the hell have you been", she giggles as mikey wipes his face with his sleeve. "lying low and despairing?".<br/>"yeah, not a lot to do since my entire fucking life caved in on me". <br/>"oh, i told them about the party", alicia says, apologetically. "but only because they pinned me down and pried it out of me". <br/>"jamia pried it out, shes the prier", pete holds his hands in the air in mock offence. "i already knew, because someone told his brother that we fucked and got me into trouble. thank you for that, by the way, mikes".  </p><p>there's a pause. </p><p>"wait... you guys hooked up?". </p><p>the four of them burst into a short bout of laughter over the sit-com worthy moment that just happened, only fading when mikey trails off and starts to frown. </p><p>"i got caught having sex, outed myself and my brother to our dad, and then scared pete away. he's going to chicago tomorrow, to spend spring break without me".<br/>"oh, mikey, you didn't mention the pete part. i'm so sorry", frank pouts. <br/>"yeah that's sucky", jamia nods. "but i mean, at least your parents didn't get a divorce". <br/>"huh?!".<br/>"yeah. i didn't tell you, because i didn't know you that well at the time, and then it just got too late to mention anything. they filed for it two days after you moved to town - it's been argument after argument since, but mom finally got her own place, which is what we're fixing up right now".<br/>"oh, shit". <br/>"it's just proof that you're not the only one who feels like their life is going to shit. we've all got our own problems", alicia agrees. "which, by the way, where are the pregnancy tests?". </p><p>the store falls silent, and frank clears his throat. <br/>"over by the back wall", he points, slowly. alicia, way too relaxed about the situation that appears to be unwinding, goes over to the isle, picks up a test, and then hops over the counter to use the bathroom. <br/>"back in a second". <br/>"employee only", frank mumbles, suddenly awkward for the first time in his life. "and i'm gonna need you to pay for that". <br/>"suck my dick", she says. "jam, help? i don't know how you use these fucking things". </p><p>jamia ignores the watchful eyes of the confused teenage boys and follows alicia into the back room in silence. mikey throws frank a disgruntled expression once they're out of earshot. <br/>"you pee on a stick, right? it takes two people to pee on a stick?". <br/>"dude...", mikey's eyes are wide. "jamia's parents split, alicia might have a baby growing inside of her. why the fuck am i so caught up in my own stupidity?". </p><p>the girls come back empty handed, met with confused expressions from frank and mikey. <br/>"fifteen minutes. it takes fifteen minutes", she checks her watch. "i have never been this nervous".<br/>"fifteen minutes is good. when my aunt maria got pregnant with my cousin, she said her and my mom had to wait for two hours", frank offers. alicia decides against insulting him this time, and squeezes his hand instead, with sincerity. </p><p>at this current second, the small quartet of friends realise simultaneously that they are just desperate suburban kids cursed with too much time. it's close to one in the morning and nobody knows where they are, or thinks to check. they could probably all smash some mailboxes, key some cars or even leave this place for good with no repercussion, because no one even notices. no one even cares. </p><p>they don't do any of that, though. alicia stands behind the counter with frank, and even helps him serve a middle aged man who mikey recognises from church, who's buying a basket full of snacks. frank charms him, a skill that comes naturally, pointing out the car full of kids parked outside. <br/>"spring break?", he asks. <br/>"indeed it is", he nods. "me and my three girls on a nine hour drive to visit grandma". <br/>"brave. take some aspirin, free of charge", frank half jokes. the man laughs, and thanks all four of the teenagers before he leaves the store, which makes everyone smile. <br/>"it's like we all work here", alicia grins. she's probably grateful for the disturbance. the pregnancy test brewing in the back room is sitting heavily on all of their minds.</p><p>mikey sits on the floor, slumped against the wall, finishing his gatorade. there's some odd glimmer of optimism in all of them. </p><p>"if you're pregnant, are you gonna marry the dad?", jamia asks. nobody has thought to ask who the father might be. it's probably that alicia won't even have a clear answer for them. <br/>"fuck no!", she says, and then laughs. "i don't think i'm ever gonna get married. and if i do, i won't wear white". <br/>"duh, white means purity. they wouldn't let you anywhere near a white wedding gown", frank sticks his tongue out at her, endearingly childish. <br/>"i'd wear white", jamia shakes her head. "a church wedding, really vintage, with candles everywhere". <br/>"oh my god, girls actually do think about this stuff", mikey says, bewildered. "i've never thought about getting married". <br/>"not even to pete?". <br/>"woah, we're not that serious. he's not my boyfriend, we're not even on good terms as of right now".<br/>"right", frank shrugs. "i'd probably marry gee in a heartbeat. like, if he asked me to elope with him tomorrow, i'd do it. or i'd get down on one knee and ask him to be my husband, and do the whole big thing. you know, a huge italian wedding with white suits and live music". <br/>"maybe corpse hollow would finally get a gig that way", jamia can't resist teasing, and has a packet of gum thrown at her head as a consequence. "hey! i'm only kidding. i think that's adorable. and if that fails, you've got me as your backup bride". </p><p>fifteen minutes feels like a lifetime, and everyone is on edge when alicia goes into the back room to retrieve the tiny piece of plastic that is might end up determining the rest of her life. </p><p>when she re-emerges and leans on the counter, test in hand, shes whiter than her normal purposefully ghastly appearance. <br/>"gross", frank whispers. "that has pee on it". <br/>"shut the fuck up", she definitely isn't in the mood for frank right now. <br/>"what is it?", mikey says. alicia hands the test over to jamia, incapable of reading it for herself. it's understandable. </p><p>mikey's thoughts are cast back to a about year ago, when he accidentally found a pregnancy test in the trashcan. he'd only gotten up to pee in the early hours of the morning, but there was the little stick with an enormous red plus sign, staring straight at him from the corner of the room. surprisingly, he knew what it meant, despite the fact that him and gabe had laughed their way through those shitty sex ed lessons in middle school.  </p><p>he had gone back to bed feeling a little hazy, and the next time he used the bathroom all of five hours later, the test was gone. he never asked his mom about it. he knows to this day that she probably handled it rashly, and then pressed the memory deep down into the dungeons of her mind palace. he knows this because he does it too. </p><p>"we're not pregnant, bitches!", jamia throws the test down on the counter and alicia let's out a scream of joy. <br/>"shit, that sucked. that really fucking sucked", frank exhales, like he was more stressed than alicia was even though he had nothing to do with it. "can you get that pee stick off of my counter?". </p><p>alicia throws the test into the trash l under the counter and immediately runs to stare at herself in the reflection of the store window, cradling her flat stomach. <br/>"oh my god, i almost stopped being skinny".<br/>"oh, that'd be the end of the world", mikey mocks, but hugs her regardless. "thank you for distracting me from my drama with your drama". <br/>"yes, because this was planned", she smirks and then digs deep into the back pocket of her low rise jeans, producing a crumpled twenty dollar bill. "we've all got alibis, this is cab money, and it's technically the first day of spring break. come on, we're going out". <br/>"it's one in the morning", mikey shakes his head, and then winces at the realisation he's become tame. "i just mean that there's no good bars open in the city, or there won't be by the time you can get a cab there". <br/>"chickening out?". <br/>"i think suburbs mikey needs to fix some shit before city mikey gets to play", he nods, and alicia understands him viscerally. <br/>"whatever, chicken", she teases, but she has sweetness engraved in her smile. "it's cool". </p><p>suddenly, life starts to move fast again. mikey is determined not to let it slow down once more. not for as long as he can stay in control.</p><p>they all say their goodbyes, the girls leaving with a newfound spring in their steps, and mikey hanging back to stick labels onto a crate of milk that frank has hauled out of the back room. </p><p>"did you mean what you said? about gee?". <br/>frank thinks for a short minute. "you heard what jam said about being my backup bride? we've got this deal about marrying each other if we're both still single at thirty. i've loved her since the first day i met her. she helped me realise that soulmates exist, but if i'm destined for her at all, then i'm just not destined for it right now. right now, even after all the lies and arguments, i love gee with everything i've got left in me. i know he loves me too in his own fucked up way". <br/>"fucked up? do you think think that's how pete feels about me?". <br/>"i can't speak for him, but i'd say that you way brothers probably need to let your guards down a little bit". <br/>"ah, that hurts. it's really interesting, though. thank you", mikey nods. <br/>"look, mikes, we're part of a whole new generation of fucked up, semi neglected, super oppressed and rebellious kids. we get to make our own definitions of how we love, free of judgement. don't be the guy who doesn't love at all".</p><p>it's solid advice. the mood shifts back to normal after that: he finishes his task with the labels, eats some candy, and helps frank serve a handful of customers. it ends up being a nice distraction, too. he had a feeling that some good would come out of the graveyard shift, but he wasn't prepared for life altering perspectives to ensue. </p><p>in fact, when eight o'clock rears it's beautiful head, and mikey is taking the trash out because he's got a stupid grin on his face because he remembers the negative pregnancy test is hiding beneath all the waste. </p><p>he sees it as some kind of metaphor but he's not really sure. </p><p>all he wants to do right now is go the fuck to bed. </p><p>he needs to fix things. </p><p>he can't wait to start fixing things.</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. homecoming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>despite all the setbacks, pete has always been consistent in the fact that he's an overachiever. that and his ambiguity issues, but he finds those harder to understand. </p>
<p>his life is a whirlwind of football, music, church, family time and friends, and mikey too, whatever that qualifies as. he's got his ways of keeping sane. some may call the fact that he enjoys seven a.m runs a distraction, but he pities that word, especially since it's impossible to distract him from himself these days. the morning after his last real conversation with mikey, he takes one of these therapeutic runs. then he ends up running every morning for the rest of the week until school ends, telling himself it's only by coincidence that he's so restless recently.</p>
<p>on saturday, though, the last ten minutes of his run are interrupted by the last thing he wants to think about right now. he doesn't stop to say hello when he spots mikey leaving the corner store on mill street, tugging a trash bag behind him, not even out of curiosity as to what he's doing. not even to ease the butterflies that cause chaos in the pit of his stomach whenever he sees that jawline, those eyes, that skin... or those legs. god, those legs. he is utterly obsessed with mikey way, and that's exactly why he can't stop to chat. </p>
<p>this spring break is about giving mikey some time to think, and to neutralise the emotions he's been overwhelmed with recently. they left their conversation on friendly but conclusive terms. he knows it's not right to fuck that up just to appease the silly schoolboy crush inside of him that makes him want to run across the street shouting "mikey! good morning!" and twirl him around in a dramatic embrace.</p>
<p>he keeps reminding himself that they're okay, and that they'll be better than ever in no time. he tends to keep a death grip on his optimism. </p>
<p>he takes a bath when he gets home, instead of a shower. the world is always more peaceful when he holds his head under the water and closes his eyes. all he can hear is the beating of the pipes running through the tub, alive and red hot just like he is. maybe the distant whir of the fan is audible if he focuses enough, or some birds outside the egress window, but that just adds to the ambiance.</p>
<p>the rest of the morning is a rushed and manic blur of throwing as many clothes as he can into a backpack and almost having a domestic over lost keys (which are in the fruit bowl, for some fucking reason). they leave on time, thank god, and pete rides up front with his dad. nostalgia hits him like a truck. it's been too long since they had a trip out like this - he's working more long haul deliveries lately, and pete is always so wrapped up in his own complicated life, so it's nice to make the twelve hour drive from belleville to wilmette together. </p>
<p>his legs are propped up on the dashboard, knees together as he balances a faded map across his thighs. his dad keeps insisting he doesn't need directions, but pete doesn't care. he likes to follow the lines and imagine a tiny version of him and his dad travelling across the page in real time. </p>
<p>when they were kids, pete and hillary had a playroom, and a map of the world took up almost the entire floor. he'd spend hours playing a similar game, but instead of imagining himself in a tiny car driving down roads, he would picture himself riding in a minuscule airplane, jetting him and his sister off around all the different continents.  </p>
<p>they could spend entire weekends in these make believe worlds, getting meticulously carried away to the point where they would rope their parents and newborn brother into attending all kinds of fictional events, whether that be appropriating their dad's collection of floral shirts and taking off to the bahamas, or rooting through the christmas decoration box so they could magically be transported right into the heart of santa's workshop. </p>
<p>"i hope it snows", pete says out loud. he's been watching the map for quite some time now, caught up in his own excitement, but he turns to his dad when he says this. "in wilmette. i hope i get to see it in the snow". <br/>"yeah, maybe. they might have caught the snow a little early, you know what it's like there", his dad laughs, but they're ten days into march and though the windy city still proves the nickname proud, it's somewhat mild during the spring. "you're staying in wilmette? we rent the condo out this time of the year, you know". <br/>"i know, its fine. i'm staying with trick and andy, they just got an apartment on the avenue". <br/>"oh yeah?", his dad seems proud of pete's friends, like he's happy his son spends time with such respectable people. "if there's a spare room, let's hope they ask you to move in next year". <br/>"even if there's not a bed for me, i'm there. i'll sofa surf if i have to. i've been away from my friends for too long". <br/>"i know, pete", his dad frowns. "i'll never forgive myself for moving us out of the state". <br/>"we had three houses and two condos across the whole of illionois before andrew was even born. i got used to moving a while ago", pete reassures with a smile, but his dad still seems unconvinced. <br/>"we never strayed far from chicago, though. you were so comfortable there". <br/>"i'm comfortable where we are now, dad", pete rolls the window up and down repeatedly for a couple of minutes, while they're both stuck for words. </p>
<p>"you've got mikey". <br/>"i've got mikey", pete nods. "i didn't invite him, though. i'm running away from him". <br/>"oh?", his dad glances at him quickly, only taking his eyes off the road for less than a second, but he can see the frustration in his son's expression. "i thought you guys were... hanging out". </p>
<p>pete almost laughs out loud at the attempted use of slang, but he can't shake the feeling of urgency bubbling inside him. </p>
<p>"can i get your opinion on something that i would literally never mention to you unless it was an emergency?", he asks abruptly, waiting for his dad to nod before he clears his throat and continues. "so basically, mikes and i started off our relationship as a friends with benefits kind of thing, i guess? like, you know, doing stuff...".<br/>"having... having sex", his dad has gone stiff and pale, and pete thinks he should probably stop before he gives the man a heart attack, but he's committed to the bit now. <br/>"no! i mean... yes... but no. like, other stuff. and just hanging out, kissing", he cringes so hard that his neck almost disappears, and his body temperature plummets upwards at full speed. "i'm just worried that we got off on the wrong foot, and that now we're stuck in this cycle because of that. like, he's not going to fall in love with me because we're already intimate".<br/>"peter, if someone is using you for your body then i-".<br/>"no, god no. please never say that again", pete resorts to pulling his hood as far over his face as he can get it. "he isn't. he just doesn't know how to be a boyfriend, as in an actual, real boyfriend. he can't even say the word love because of all the stuff he's been through". <br/>"okay, okay. well, then i think you should take a few days apart like you've planned, and then i think you should call him". they're at a red light, so they can have this conversation face to face instead of awkwardly staring straight ahead. "ask him out on a real date, win him over with your charm. do you really, really like this kid?".<br/>"i love him", pete nods like he's never been so sure of anything in his life. <br/>"then reinvent his definition of love. make him think about you when he says that word", he says. "and, pete? you should probably ask your mother about things like this in the future". he starts laughing, which sets pete off. their laughter is the same and comes out synchronised, filling the vehicle and cleansing the atmosphere. </p>
<p>still, pete can't help but think about what mikey is doing right now. he wonders if he's thinking of him.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. we do it in the dark with smiles on our faces</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw // nsfw</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>after the graveyard shift takes a toll on him, mikey crashes out for the rest of the day in an attempt to re-nourish his non existent sleeping pattern. it's easy being nocturnal, because it means he doesn't have to speak to gerard, his least favourite person on planet earth right now. he's sure the feeling is mutual. </p>
<p>he wakes up at six o'clock, hungrier than he's ever been, like his body has started to eat itself from the inside out. braving any more unwanted conflict, mikey traipses down the stairs to find his dad eating alone at the dining room table. <br/>"hey... is-". <br/>"gerard is eating in his room", he says. "you're safe". </p>
<p>mikey decides to be the good kid for once, grabbing a plate of carbonara and sitting down opposite his dad. <br/>"how was your day?", he asks, and watches the first genuine smile in days flutter across the man's face. being the light in dark times is rewarding, even if the job is being forced upon him. </p>
<p>gerard doesn't come to church with them on sunday, either. mikey goes alone with his dad, and they sit with frank and his family. frank pats mikey's leg.<br/>"shit with gee is gonna be fine". <br/>"it won't". <br/>"it will. for your dad's sake, not yours. you want me to ask him if you can come camping with us?".</p>
<p>that's how mikey finds out that frank is abandoning him for the next few days to go on a camping trip with gerard, ray, and a couple of their art school friends. a camping trip mikey is very much uninvited too. alongside that, jamia is visiting her dad in new york and has bribed alicia into coming with her, so mikey really is alone. </p>
<p>it's okay, though, because he gets to carry on being nocturnal, sleeping all day, sometimes on the couch if he's feeling adventurous. in an attempt to help cure mikey's sudden sadness, his dad lets them eat dinner on their laps while they watch comfort television. every night it's one episode of master chef, followed by two episodes of full house, in that order, no more and no less. </p>
<p>"uncle jesse is stupidly cute", mikey lets slip one evening, after staring at john stamos and his infuriatingly perfect bone structure for a while too long. <br/>"that's your type, then?", his dad attempts, and mikey snorts out of pure awkwardness. <br/>"okay, like... yeah, him and aunt becky too. but i don't know. none of them look like pete". <br/>"ah, this mysterious pete character", he grins. he's been surprisingly supportive and non-invasive about this whole ordeal. "you two should patch things up soon, so i get to meet him and fill in the blanks of his appearance". <br/>"he's stupidly cute too. he really is, like, beyond greek god john stamos standard". <br/>"oh, really?". <br/>"for sure. he's the quarterback, and he's half jamaican - i know you're picturing a white dude, like the stereotype of a jock, but he's not. he's got really nice skin, coffee coloured, and these huge almond eyes. i guess i like him because he listens when i talk". <br/>"my son is dating the quarterback?!", his dad grins. "you've really got yourself a good person there, mikes. does that mean you're his cheerleader?". <br/>"actually, most of the time he's mine", mikey laughs, but quickly turns their attention back to full house before he starts to overthink. </p>
<p>later that night, when he's brushing his teeth in the bathroom, he can't stop thinking about pete. his phone rings, and he actually jumps out of his skin, dropping it twice in his haste to answer, foolishly optimistic about who is calling. </p>
<p>"pete?", he says, and is met with a maniacal laugh. in his haste, he forgot all about the existence of caller id. <br/>"you don't have my number saved, way? not cool", a startlingly familiar voice cackles. "you sound dumb. you got a dick in your mouth or something?". </p>
<p>mikey spits his toothpaste into the sink, and groans. </p>
<p>"fuck off, gabe". <br/>"baby boy, that is no way to treat your dear friend". <br/>"my dear friend who texted me maybe three times since i moved away", mikey teases, and walks back into his room so he can lay on the bed. "not that i've been much better. sorry. hi, dude". <br/>"it's spring break, mikey. you coming home? the city isn't the same without you".</p>
<p>gabe starts spinning a story of something that happened to him the other week. it's probably one big fabricated exaggeration, but mikey puts his phone on speaker so that he can listen while he pulls off his clothes and crawls into bed wearing boxers and a hoodie. </p>
<p>he holds the collar up to his nose so that the smell stays in his nostrils for as long as possible. it smells like pete.</p>
<p>"city sounds fine without me", mikey laughs when gabe finishes spinning his story. he's met with a loud, exasperated noise. <br/>"it's not. it's wilting. everything is fading to grey and i've got no reason to live. remember the days when we were the only thing keeping each other sane? how are you surviving without me?", he says, and mikey clutches the phone back up to his ear, grinning at the familiarity. he can practically picture gabe right now, probably draping himself over his sofa all melodramatic. <br/>"what if i told you i have someone keeping me sane out here in the suburbs...".</p>
<p>there's a dramatic gasp. </p>
<p>"michael robert way has a lover? where the fuck do you guys fall on the spectrum?". <br/>"not my middle name, man", mikey shakes his head fondly. forgetfulness is all part of gabe's charming nature. "his name is pete. we're not dating but i'm wearing his hoodie, if that helps". <br/>"so you're whipped?". <br/>"not whipped", he's lying. gabe can tell. <br/>"are you still interested in him even after you guys fucked?". <br/>"...yeah". <br/>"look at you all white-picket-fence-ish", gabe teases. <br/>"don't be an asshole". mikey wants to know how the fuck gabe even figured that out. is his reputation really that bad? <br/>"i'm always an asshole. an asshole who's having a hard time imagining mikey way all snuggled up in some dude's hoodie". </p>
<p>mikey switches off the lamp on his bedside table, plunging himself into comforting darkness. <br/>"i'm not 'snuggled'. pete is short as hell and his clothes fit me tight", mikey says. "so shut up". <br/>gabe says, "pete is a good name. must be good dick, too, if it's keeping you interested", and follows it up with the equally gross, "are you bringing this v-i-p dick home to see me? come on, new jersey misses its favourite problem causer". <br/>"still in new jersey, moron, i'm just causing problems in the suburbs for the time being", mikey promises. </p>
<p>he ends up dumping all his baggage onto gabe, who stays quiet for the longest amount of time in his life while he listens, clearly enthralled. somehow, he doesn't pass any judgement. it's shocking, because this is the same gabe who laughed for thirty minutes when olivia mariano had turned up to summer school wearing cargo shorts, and had to go to the nurse because of the headache he caused himself. </p>
<p>"shit", he says when mikey has done ranting, and mikey furrows his brows, confused. <br/>"what, no catty little comment? which part didn't you hear?". <br/>"no, mikey, i heard it all", gabe seems lost for words. "weird relationship with your mom got weirder, you forced your brother out of the glass closet, and now you can't tell a guy you love him. mikey way, you are the world's biggest disaster-slut". <br/>"seriously, fuck you!", mikey groans, ignoring gabe's laughter.<br/>"i don't have any advice, mikey. i just wanted to tell you that we miss you, all of us. especially me and reggie, i went to the store today to say hi, and he asked about you but i wasn't sure what to say. it sucks when i can't even give people updates on one of my best friends". <br/>"i'm sorry", mikey sighs. "i've been so caught up in-".<br/>"in your own bullshit, i know. but we have to talk more. don't forget about who you are, okay? you're mikey fucking way. you're the guy who took off down the street naked at alec monson's party on a dare". <br/>"and you're the guy who keeps reminding me about that four years later". <br/>"i'm saying you're fearless. so face your fear and be open to things with this pete guy. call him. fly to the moon to bring him some moon cheese if you have to. that's all i'm saying". <br/>"moon cheese, i got it", mikey sighs. "te amo, gabe". <br/>"you can say it to me, but not to pete?".<br/>"oh, fuck you. you're my friend, that's different", mikey rolls his eyes. "plus, he gives way better head".<br/>"touché", gabe says. "te amo. don't be a stranger". </p>
<p>mikey lies awake for a while longer, watching the shadow of the large tree outside dancing across his walls. his eyelids are heavy with the promise of sleep on the horizon, and if he closes them, he knows they're not opening back up for at least ten hours.</p>
<p>then his fingers are moving of their on accord, calling the number labelled 'pete :)'. pete was the one who added the stupid little emoticon at the end. mikey vowed never to change it. </p>
<p>as it rings, he thinks maybe he can blame the fact he's on the verge of sleep to justify the call, hoping it's clear in his voice. on the third ring, he panics and realises it's late, and maybe pete is asleep. then, by the fifth ring, he remembers that illinois is one hour behind, and also that pete is almost definitely awake. he's going through with this call no matter how hard he regrets it. </p>
<p>"mikeyway", pete answers, quiet but not quite a whisper. "oh, god, i missed your voice".<br/>"me too", mikey talks back. "hi. everyone went camping without me". <br/>"i've not stopped talking about you, the guys are so bored. i even made them play a song i wrote about you while we were jamming".</p>
<p>mikey's shoulders relax, and he settles into bed. <br/>"you wrote a song about me". it's a statement, not a question. <br/>"it's called mikey's song".<br/>"creative. sing me a little bit?".  </p>
<p>pete's not the singer of the band, not has he ever claimed that his voice is perfect, but he sings mikey the first verse anyway. though it's nothing revolutionary, mikey can feel his heart beating faster in his chest. </p>
<p>'i'm in love with the ways that you dance.<br/>locked eyes and you put me in a trance. <br/>and i'm in love with the way you kiss. <br/>you do it so nonchalantly but never seem amiss.<br/>and mikey i love the way that you scream up at the stars. <br/>like a dream, a perfect memory, making the constellations ours'. </p>
<p>"so, you really have been thinking about me". <br/>"dumbass", pete smiles. he can't see, but mikey knows he's smiling. "you like it?". <br/>"i like you". <br/>"yeah, i know", pete goes silent for a couple of seconds, and then lowers his voice even more when he starts talking again. "wanna tell me why you like me?".<br/>"the fact that you're so humble and not self absorbed at all?", mikey jokes, but pete's breathing gets deeper and a whole wave of self indulgent thoughts come flooding in. "hey, pete. are you getting off?". <br/>"kinda", he admits after a second, and just as mikey is about to ask him how you can 'kinda' get off, his voice comes back more demanding. "mikey. i want you to tell me what you like about me". </p>
<p>mikey feels the lower half of him twitch with intrigue, and he pushes a hand inside of his boxers without intent. he's just curious. his brain is too, immediately producing an image of pete, legs spread apart, rock hard and begging. </p>
<p>"oh", he smirks. "well, i like your eyes, your hips, and how toned you are from football... how you've got strong arms and an insanely good grip, and when you fuck me-".<br/>"shit", pete's interruption comes in the form of the world's tiniest gasp.<br/>"when you fuck me, i feel so secure. you grip hold of me like you're holding on for your life, and leave me sore. bruised". <br/>"on the outside", pete reminisces on seeing his fingerprints bright red against mikey's pale skin. </p>
<p>mikey relaxes more, starts to move his hand and clear his head. the butterflies in his stomach flutter more violently. </p>
<p>"inside too. you stretch me out so well". <br/>"mmm". <br/>"and i like the way you pay attention to me. when we see each other again, i want you to make me cry. can you do that for me?". </p>
<p>mikey's little speech might be semi hyperbolic, but he actually gets incredibly into it, feeling like some fucked up version of a temptress when he lowers his voice to sound all sultry. he's sure pete is enjoying the performance judging by the short and shallow breaths he's hearing from the other end of the call.</p>
<p>"need to see you, mikeyway", pete's coming undone like yarn at the hands of mikey, and it makes him feel powerful. "need to feel you - fuck - feel how tight you are". <br/>"if you want me to be a really good boy for you, you have to earn it". <br/>"mikey-". <br/>"you gonna tell me?", mikey moves his hand at a faster pace, twisting his wrist as he does it in a feverish attempt to spur himself along, and catch up with an obviously unraveled pete. "pete".<br/>"gonna make you scream. you're gonna beg for me. i love you, i love making you feel good. you're mine, mikeyway". </p>
<p>it's cliche dirty talk, but mikey's entire body jolts at the latter sentence, and then he's coming, quiet as a mouse after all the years of living in a tiny apartment with thin walls. pete is not so stealthy, following on a few moments later with a groan that verges into scream territory, and leaves them both panting down their phones in silence while they try to gather themselves. </p>
<p>"did you... you know?", mikey asks lamely. pete ignores him. <br/>"come spend spring break with me, mikes. i'm serious. life fucking sucks without you". </p>
<p>after a day of thinking, mikey brings up the trip to his dad over brunch. he's not sure if this is just his father's attempt at being accommodating, or if he's just trying to keep the peace knowing gerard gets home that evening, but he's met with the keys to his car and a huge encouraging pep talk, followed by an awkward comment about 'sexual health'. </p>
<p>mikey pushes back the urge to vomit, because he doesn't want to cut into his packing time. </p>
<p>mikey way is going to chicago.</p>
<p>it's going to take at least eleven hours, which means he'll be driving all night and well into the morning, but he's going. nothing can put him off. </p>
<p>and it sort of makes him feel sick - this codependency, and this desperation to be around someone all the time. yet all he can think about is setting his eyes on pete, and then finally letting the rest of the world melt away.</p>
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